


Homemade Gifts

by JeromeSankara



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Announcements, Canonical Child Abuse, Carl is a Little Shit, Chaptered, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes Feels, Domestic Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Married Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes, Mpreg, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post Mpreg, Rickyl Writers' Group, Rickyl Writers' Group Secret Santa 2018, Toddler Judith Grimes, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2019-09-16 01:30:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 36,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16944444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeromeSankara/pseuds/JeromeSankara
Summary: The best gifts may not have to be bought. They are made, instead.Follow the lives of Rick and Daryl, with a lifetime of gifts along the way.Secret Santa gift to: RickylLover <3





	1. Names and Gifts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RickylLover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RickylLover/gifts).



It all started with their names in a bucket, plucked out at random in that tiny fifth grade classroom.

The rules were simple. The names were drawn in pairs, in a not-so-secret Santa gift exchange. The spending limit was guided at ten dollars, but Mr. Greene had made it clear that no one needed to spend anything. Sometimes the best gifts are made, not bought.

It was with that thought that Rick Grimes stared across the classroom, to that little sweatshirted shape staring down at his desk. Daryl Dixon, the new kid in school.

Well, new as in he transferred in last year, but having grown up with just about everyone in class for a solid five years, he was still ‘new.’ Rick had done his best to try to make a dent in his outer shell, trying to invite him to the table and all that, but everyone had given up by the second month of his arrival.

“Dude, that  _ sucks,”  _ Shane whispered behind him, leaning over his desk to get a better view of Daryl. “He's probably gonna give you roadkill. Oh wait, that's his  _ dinner.” _

Rick glared over his shoulder, though it did nothing to wipe that smug grin on his best friend's face. “Knock it off,” he muttered, flashing his gaze to Mr. Greene, who was still cycling through the bucket of names and writing the pairs on the board. Shane had been the first one drawn, and the lucky kid got Lori. Her parents were  _ loaded.  _

Best presents don't have to be bought, though.

“You have two weeks before the gift exchange on the last day of class,” Mr. Greene said, “the 15th. And I don't want to hear excuses about you not knowing.” He tapped the whiteboard with his marker, where the chart took up almost a third of the space. “It's all here.”

Glancing out of the corner of his eye, Rick saw that Daryl was still staring down at his desk, doodling across a piece of paper. Drawing. He knew that Daryl liked to draw. Maybe a sketchbook? No, too obvious and it wouldn't last long. Pencils wouldn't do well, either.

The bell rang for the end of the day, and classmates were already mingling together and finding their partners. They passed ideas back and forth, interests and hobbies, but Daryl had already grabbed his backpack and was sneaking his way out of the classroom.

Shane gave him a pat on the shoulder, and he could hear his grin again. “Hey, I'll see if I can get Lori to give you a present. I think she  _ likes you.” _

Rick just rolled his eyes. He had a mission at hand, and he wasn't going to be distracted by snooty Lori.

* * *

Trying to find a present for Daryl Dixon was a lot harder than Rick had first imagined. It wasn’t on if Daryl had it or not, something like that, it was if Daryl would even  _ want  _ it.

It wasn’t hard to see that Daryl had very little, but he never took anything, either. If he wanted to read, he would stay at the library and never took a book home with him. He would come in early to work on homework he didn’t take home, and when he left the school, his backpack was almost always empty. How do you give something to someone who didn’t want anything?

This was the third time that he had stopped at the mall, squinting at the bright and colorful objects and decorations that each shop was adorned with. Christmas music was already in full swing, no matter if it was only the sixth. Nineteen more days until Christmas, and only nine to find Daryl a gift. He could do this.

At first, he had gone to a bookstore and tried to find something he thought Daryl would like, but left with nothing. What kind of a Christmas gift would a book be? A random book by a random kid in class? It would practically be homework. Maybe clothes. Would Daryl like a hat? A scarf for the winter? Maybe some nice fuzzy socks. Something to keep him warm this winter.

His parents weren’t much help, either. Dad, especially. His dad was a little bit tougher than most, and it came from being a cop. All Dad said was that there was nothing that a Dixon would take as a gift. All they would see it as was charity. He also added that it didn’t matter what he gave Daryl, it would be gone by the end of the week.

Rick wasn’t quite sure what Dad meant by that, but judging by Mom’s glare, it wasn’t anything good. Dad just shrugged and said that it was the truth, and that if he wanted to give Daryl anything, it’d be a bus ticket out of this town.

It didn’t help that every time Rick tried to talk to Daryl, tried to get close, he would either find some way to duck away or Shane would interrupt.

So without any ideas, Rick just wandered. He poked his head into each store in turn, and when nothing caught his eye, he went to the next. That was until he found himself in the craft store. There  _ had _ to be something here. If he ran out of ideas, then a sketchpad and some pencils would have to do. But it had to be something special. He knew that there was just going to be that  _ one _ thing…

And it was in the very back of the store that he found it. $9.95 and a bit of pocket change later, Rick raced out of the mall with his bag in hand, his heart skipping in his chest. Now he just had to learn how to put it together.

That… may take time, but he had nine days. Plenty of time.

* * *

 

Rick blearily watched Mr. Greene write on the board, about this and that, instructions on what they would start doing once class resumed next month, but all he could do was stare at the clock. Five minutes before class was done and winter break would begin. All the while, his heart pounded inside his chest, that nervousness being the only thing keeping him awake.

So he  _ may _ have underestimated how much time it took to make the thing, or the fact that he… screwed up. A few times. That meant going back to the store for supplies, and Mom definitely was going to pile on the chores because of that, but it was worth it. He had done it. It may have been in the morning hours that he finished the last knot, but he did it. Glancing out of the corner of his eye, he saw Daryl nervously pulling at a strand hanging off his sleeve, unable to look up. His face was flushed, and he seemed just as nervous as Rick was.

Dad already told him not to expect anything from Daryl, how he’d probably blow it off and give him nothing but a glare, but Rick didn’t care. The only thing he really cared was giving Daryl something he would like.

“Alright,” Mr. Greene finally sighed, dropping the marker onto the ledge with the cap screwed back on. “I can see the glazed looks, I’ve already lost you to winter break.”

Rick raised up his head, blinking away his tiredness. The last thing he wanted was to make Daryl think that he was bored with the gift exchange, if that was such a thing. Didn’t matter right now, anyway, because Mr. Greene was gesturing to the chart and the names still written across.

“For your last assignments of the year, I want you to exchange your gifts, and have a Merry Christmas.”

Shane whooped from behind him, so loud that it made Rick jump, and he was already fumbling out of his chair. “Lori!” he called, clutching at some horribly-wrapped box. As soon as Shane was out of his desk, the rest of his class followed, all flocking and scrambling to find their gift buddy.

Finally! Rick sucked in a deep breath and reached into his bag, taking out the gift bag he decided to use for his present. He didn’t want to accidentally hurt it by wrapping it up with paper, after all. All he hoped was that it didn’t fall apart the second it went into Daryl’s hands. He double and triple checked all the knots before going to bed, but that had also been at four in the morning. He may have been seeing double at that point.

He turned towards the desks and saw that Daryl was at least still here. He had something in his sweatshirt pocket that he was fiddling with, and Rick couldn’t help but hope that he could prove his Dad wrong on  _ something. _

“Daryl!” Rick called, unable to hide his grin. He weaved his way through classmates and desks, holding the bag tight to his chest like it was his lifeline. “Hold up, just a sec.”

As soon as he got to Daryl’s desk, he could feel his body physically vibrate with excitement. At least he hoped that if Daryl hated it, he wouldn’t say it aloud, if just to let Rick be proud of this.  _ Please  _ don’t hate it.

“Here,” he said, placing the bag onto Daryl’s desk. Daryl was still sitting, almost squishing himself down into his chair like Rick was some predator about to attack, but he peeked up at him from beneath his long bangs. They were wary and squinted at him, then to the bag, then back to him.

“...Don’t gotta,” Daryl breathed, his voice almost a whisper. It was probably the most Rick heard Daryl say in weeks. He was always so  _ silent. _ His hands were still in his sweatshirt pocket, like he wasn’t sure if he should be accepting the present or not.

“Well, I did,” Rick shrugged, wondering if maybe Daryl would be happier of he thought it wasn’t a big deal. Maybe. His head was going a mile a minute right now, and he really had no idea what he was doing. All he knew was that he was excited, and he needed Daryl to be excited, too, or he was going to burst all over the classroom.

Daryl’s eyes looked back up at him, still uncertain, before he finally slipped his hands out of his sweatshirt pocket. What Rick immediately noticed was that in one hand was some sort of a… pouch? But it wasn’t just a pouch. It was a  _ furry _ pouch.

“Woah!” Rick gasped, nearly reaching out to grab it. Was that his gift? A furry pouch? It was weird, yeah, but cool. “Did you make that? That’s cool!”

Daryl cringed down in his chair again, and Rick winced. He had to be calm. Daryl’s hands clenched around the pouch, before he carefully sat it down on the desk right beside Rick’s bag. “S’rabbit,” he murmured, so low that Rick almost thought he was hearing things.

It was only when Daryl let go of the bag that Rick caught the bandages around his fingers. His mouth dropped open to ask, but this time he caught his words. Daryl didn’t liked being asked things, he reminded himself. Daryl was quiet and liked to stay that way. But the bandages were around almost every finger, on both hands even. Had he gotten hurt?

“Uh, thank you,” Rick said, but as he reached out, he heard Daryl sigh.

“It’s in the damn pouch.”

“Oh,” Rick dumbly stated, looking back to the pouch. Of course there was something in it, what was he thinking? But that just meant that neither had opened their present. They stared down at the desk together, one waiting for the other to make a move, before Rick bundled up his courage.

“Here,” he smiled, nudging his bag a little bit closer. “It’s not in a cool bag, but I hope you like it.”

“S’not a big deal,” Daryl murmured, not raising his eyes off of the bags, but finally took a hold of his gift. Rick tried not to stare at his hands, and instead at Daryl’s face, nearly hidden beneath his long bangs. Daryl hesitated for a moment, like he could feel Rick’s stare, before he reached into the bag.

The crinkling of paper tinkered with each of his nerves, his eyes watching for any sign of emotion on Daryl's face, anything at all. Then Daryl's hands paused, and he blinked. He was silent for a few moments, before finally pulling it out of the bag.

“...Do you like it?” Rick breathed, flicking his eyes down to the gift if just to make sure it wasn't damaged.

It was a dream catcher. He remembered having one when he was really little, when the monsters under the bed would scare away sleep. The yarn was a pale blue intertwined with whites, all around a dark hoop. The strands dangled down to random beads, all ended with blue feathers. Weaving it all together had taken  _ hours  _ of concentration, but Rick's heart was as light as the pale blue feathers.

Daryl's fingers were slow as he ran them across the feathers, touching the beads, careful like they were as delicate as the wings of a sparrow. Rick tried to read his expression, and for just a second, Daryl looked up at him.

His eyes were wide, deep pools of blue that he only just realized matched the feathers between his fingers. Rick felt like he had dived straight into his heart, into the emotions that betrayed his normal facade. But it only was for a fraction of a second, because Daryl ducked away.

He mumbled something, too low for Rick to hear, before he slipped out of his chair.

“H-hey, I didn't-” Rick started, reaching out for him, only for Daryl to flinch out of his reach. His face was obscured by his long hair, even as Rick tried to get a glimpse, trying to decipher what he did wrong.

But he didn't get a chance, not as Daryl grabbed at his bag and threw it over his shoulder. He darted past him, and before Rick could so much as say his name, he was already out the door.

Well… he didn't say he  _ hated  _ it. Maybe he just… had to…

Dammit, he hated it.

Rick's shoulders fell and he let out a low sigh. Glancing down to the desk, he saw the discarded bag, but at least Daryl took the catcher with him. That had to mean something.

What also had to mean something was that Daryl had left him his present.

Well, Daryl did say it was for him. Huffing under his breath, he thumbed at the opening of the pouch and found the little strings. It looked like this was actually handmade, stitched and everything. Maybe he would give it back to Daryl after break. Or even the whole thing if Daryl really wanted it back. But he could at least look at the gift.

Unknotting the strings, Rick tilted the pouch upside down and started shaking it into his palm. There was something in here, at least. It was light, a little blocky, and-

A little wood figure fell into his palm. Blinking, Rick squinted down at it.

A wolf. A little wooden wolf, sitting and howling. There were little slits to give the illusion of fur ruffling around the neck, and it looked carved. Actuall _ y carved. _

Looking back to the door, his mind blinked back to Daryl's hands, the bandages that were wrapped around every finger. Did…

Did Daryl make this for him?

Rick's eyes widened as he stared back down at the figure, and he felt a warm fluttering in his chest. Daryl made him a gift.

He couldn't smother down the soft smile if he tried, casting his gaze back to the closed classroom door. His fingers ran across the smooth surface of the wood, engraving it to memory, and for just a moment, Rick didn't care what happened this Christmas.

He already got his gift.

* * *

It was already deep into the night, and Pa was asleep. It hadn't been a quiet night, but he'd had worse. He could get through this.

Daryl ran his fingertips along the edge of his mattress, curling himself tighter in the blankets. It was on nights like these that he missed Merle, if just for another presence in the house. He'd go into the woods again, but it was… lonely.

It was so lonely.

His eyes flicked up to the clock on the wall, one that was a couple minutes off because the battery was starting to die. So maybe it was midnight. Maybe it wasn't. Maybe it was four in the morning, he wouldn't know any different.

But the minute hand ticked along, bit by bit, until it finally joined the hour hand on the 12th line. They hovered together, standing still, like they were giving Daryl that extra moment of time.

He reached farther down the mattress and untucked the blanket, revealing the slit Merle had cut in the mattress long ago.

Merle used it for cigarettes and booze and whatever money he scrounged up. That was all long gone now. It held things much more important, things Daryl couldn't let be taken away.

His letters from Merle. The family picture before Mama passed away. Mementos. And then his fingers ran across the blue feathers, feeling the beads and the strands that laid right beneath his head, only a bit of stuffing between them.

Maybe it would keep the bad dreams away again tonight. Catch them and let him sleep.

Closing his eyes, Daryl retucked the blanket and sighed. “Merry Christmas,” he mumbled to the empty room, to the empty clock, and his empty heart.


	2. Presents at Midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A teenage Rick Grimes and Daryl Dixon will spend their first Christmas together.

There was a sickness spreading throughout the school. It seeped into everyone’s body, drawing out the strength ounce by ounce, eyes glazing over and staring blankly as they all marched through the hallways in a corpse parade. Their feet dragged, like hunks of dead meat attached to weakening limbs, and the cure felt like an eternity away.

The last days before Christmas break. Mix this with the horrific senioritis, and for Rick, it felt like a terminal diagnosis. How would he survive?

Rick’s forehead smacked into his locker, the rest of his energy being leeched out into the ground. He didn’t even feel pain, just dead inside. Like every high schooler in existence, probably. A low groan rumbled in his throat, and he felt his body starting the slow collapse to the trodden hallway, all while students tromped on just inches away. How could they continue on with this life? Knowing that it would only repeat the next day, then the day after that, and even after that…

Because there were four days until Christmas break, and Rick had no idea how anyone was still alive.

“Get up.”

With his failing strength, Rick raised his head to the voice, and let out a low sigh. Weakly, he raised his hand up, stretching his fingers out to the voice that seemed just out of his reach, but he was  _ so close... _

“My angel, have you come to take me away from this horrid place? Is this heaven?”

“Shut up.”

Rick laughed at the growing flush over Daryl’s face, his eyes constantly darting to the students that walked just inches away. He shoved his hands deeper into his sweatshirt pockets, and just glared down at his outstretched hand.

“C’mon, please?” Rick whined, wiggling his fingers towards his reluctant savior. “I can’t get up on my own. I might die, and Coach Negan will make me run laps for being late.”

With a long groan, Daryl pulled his hands out of his sweatshirt and grabbed at Rick’s hand a bit tighter than was necessary, and the yank to pull him to his feet just about pulled his arm out of socket. “Are you done now?” he complained, his hands going straight back into his pockets as soon as Rick was on his feet.

Rick bit on the inside of his cheek, and he knew by now to stop asking why. He knew why. But he couldn’t help but glance through the hall, trying to see if there will be a gap in students. They could steal a moment, just one, and Rick would be over the moon. But no, there were too many people, and Daryl had already stepped to his own locker a few feet over. His sharp blue eyes, still almost hidden behind the long hair he never cut down, were strictly on his things. 

Rick smoothly closed the distance between them, his own eyes wandering into Daryl’s locker. As soon as he looked inside, his smile widened as he caught sight of the dreamcatcher, still hanging on its hook, hidden only behind Daryl’s winged vest.

Daryl’s hand twitched on the door, like he had been about ready to slam it shut, before he loosened his fingers again. “Looking for something?” he grunted, but a smirk twitched onto his lips. “You gonna frisk me for drugs, officer?” Almost as soon as the words left his lips, his face flushed deeper, and he practically buried his head into his locker. Within seconds, Daryl had grabbed his gym bag and slammed the door.

“C’mon, ya dick!” Daryl shouted, not bothering to look back as he muscled his way through the still-flowing students.

Damn, Daryl was cute. Rick would never be allowed to say it aloud, but the way he tried so desperately to tuck away his feelings, only for them to burst through at the oddest times… It was the rare windows into his mind that Rick craved from him, if just to strive off everything else.

If Daryl wasn’t comfortable, he wouldn’t push it. Rick had promised him that long ago, and while that temptation was tantalizingly close, to just close that distance, to claim what he knew would be his, he held strong.

...As long as Daryl doesn’t know he held the center stage for just about every single stolen moment in his bedroom. He didn’t need to know that.

* * *

Practice was long today, with those who weren’t on the basketball team having to work on their endurance. Since track would be starting in the spring, both he and Daryl had to start getting back in shape. It had been a couple months since cross country for Rick, and Daryl had sprained his ankle early in the football season, putting him on the bench. Neither really had the care, or the coordination for that matter, for basketball.

Which meant they had to be kept busy while Coach Negan worked with his precious basketball team.

Rick had been sent to run laps in the gym, and had almost been smacked by rogue basketballs at least four different occasions. Probably on purpose. Coach Negan had been hellbent on getting him on the team, but it just… To be completely honest, Rick didn’t understand how it worked. How did you know if you were the one to shoot the free throws? How about positioning? What about penalties? How much was too much for blocking?

It gave him a damn headache.

Running also meant that he wasn’t able to spend any time with Daryl, with him being sent to lift weights. He was the prized pole-vaulter, after all. Had to keep his upper body strength. That also meant Daryl had to deal with Shane and his near constant bugging and teasing.

Shane thought he was being funny, and the fact that Daryl didn’t fight back only encouraged it.

Rick had been the first one to claim a shower. Even got to ‘enjoy’ it without getting caught. Though as soon as he heard the thundering herd of the basketball team barreling to the locker room, he knew his time was up. He flicked back his still dripping curls and tucked his towel around his waist, not like it really mattered if he covered up or not.

Because if there was one universal room in the locker room, it was that no one cares if you’re naked. Just don’t make a point of it. Don’t strut around with your cock out, because  _ no one _ was here for that and no one wants to look.

But there were the others who barely so much as stripped down to their underwear. His eyes had already landed on the man in the corner of the locker room, sitting on one of the benches a good ways away from everyone else. For the four years they’ve been in this locker room, there was not one time that Daryl had purposefully stripped down in the open. If anything, Daryl took his clothes with him to the bathroom stalls, changed, and went home. If he showered, he went to the farthest one, and only when most of the guys have left.

Rick pulled a smile onto his face, even as his stomach dropped out of his body. Daryl had an ice pack against his bad ankle, and the fact that he was even  _ using _ it meant that the pain must be pretty serious.

“You alright?” Rick asked, running his fingers through his wet hair to push it back. Daryl glanced up at him just for a moment, then back to his ankle. Daryl was still fully clothed, all the way to his sweatshirt. He didn’t even take it off for weightlifting.

Sitting down beside him, Rick tried his best to get a better look at his expression. In the background, he could hear the chatter of the other guys, some bragging about beating their dead-lift record, others complaining about Coach Negan’s harsh practices. No one was paying attention to them. Rick slid just a little bit closer, enough to let their sides touch.

Daryl’s grasp on the ice pack tightened, and his eyes darted up to Rick’s face, and for just a moment, he saw that expression. The slip of his facade again. A small glimpse past his harsh exterior, the vulnerability. It was still rare to see even after all this time, but it made Rick’s heart flutter in his chest for the chance.

Rick didn’t look away as he reached slowly, and let his hand rest on Daryl’s thigh. Just a soft touch. Careful.

Once again, Daryl’s eyes darted away from him, and for a frantic moment, they tracked each of the other men, waiting for one to suddenly burst out with accusations or ridicule them. When nothing happened and the chatter continued in the background, Daryl’s tense body relaxed just enough.

Rick tried hard to contain his smile, since he didn’t want to give Daryl the impression that he was  _ dying _ for these moments, and he forced himself to start talking, just to distract Daryl. “Did you have plans yet for break? For Christmas?”

Though first taking a sharp inhale, and his eyes darting to the others again, Daryl let out the breath he had been holding. “Just… Dunno yet.”

“I’ll still be here for break. We’re staying at home this year.”

Daryl’s jaw clenched, and he could feel Daryl getting tense again under his hand. He ran his thumb across his leg, running across the sweatpants that were starting to show their age. When he still didn’t answer, Rick forced a shrug.

“Either way. Offer’s open.” Rick looked away finally, trying to keep himself calm and collected. He had to make sure Daryl didn’t feel pressured. If he did, he’d start closing himself off again. “My parents would be glad to have you over. Meet them proper. Mom’s gonna make a shit ton of food and she’d love to meet you.” He carefully omitted his father, as Daryl was already far too familiar with him. Not to mention that the last time they met was… not on pleasant terms.

When Daryl still stayed silent, Rick had to swallow down his disappointment. There was still that elephant in the room, of course; them being together.

That was the hurdle that kept stopping them. Daryl wasn’t out, and while he wouldn’t tell Rick exactly why, he already knew; Pa. Daryl thought he could hide it, hide the flinches under any touch, hide the peaking scars on his back when the heat would be too much and he would have to strip down, but he couldn’t hide from Rick.

And it wasn’t like Dad had been very quiet about his opinion on the Dixons. About the calls he would get from the neighbors complaining about the drunk antics, but after all these years, there were no charges. Just an occasional trip to the drunk tank that Rick  _ knew _ ended badly for Daryl, because he would miss school the next couple days. When he came back, so did the sweatshirts and the hiding.

While part of Rick hated the fact that Daryl wouldn’t trust him, how he wished Daryl could just let him in, he also had to admit that Daryl wouldn’t let anyone in. Not as long as he lived in fear of his father.

And so Daryl lived his life in hiding, hiding from him, from Pa, from everyone else. But as he watched Daryl finally walk off to the showers, with the locker room starting to empty, Rick promised himself that he would change all of this.

He would make sure that Daryl would never have to live in the dark again.

* * *

“I-I really don’t think this is a good idea-”

“C’mon, you promised!”

“B-but-”

“They’ll love you, I swear!”

Rick dragged Daryl up the sidewalk from the driveway, where Daryl had parked his motorcycle. It had almost taken Rick driving down to Daryl’s house to bring him along, as Daryl had been sure to drag his heels through this whole process. Constant texts and calls about how he wasn't sure this was a good idea, trying to warn Rick off, and trying to cancel on four different occasions, but Rick held firm. Daryl deserved a good holiday, and Rick would be damned if he didn't make sure Daryl enjoyed it.

It took several long sit downs with his parents, talking through as much as they could to get it out of the way without Daryl having to suffer through it.

Yes, Rick had a boyfriend. Yes, it was serious. Yes, this meant he was coming out as bi, and yes, Daryl was afraid to do the same as gay. And as his father had so kindly added, yes, he knew what this could do to him and Daryl if it got out to the wrong people. Will Dixon already had a bone to pick with the Grimes, and this certainly wouldn't help.

They even went through the  _ talk, _ about how Daryl would be sleeping on the pull out couch downstairs and, while they were glad that their son had found love, they didn't need to see it. His parents had already told him several times over to not get too far ahead of himself, that he still had the rest of his life ahead of him.

Well, yeah, but that didn't mean he couldn't include Daryl into it.

Daryl didn't know about any of this. To him, this was the first time Daryl would meet his parents, introduce himself, and would make a first impression. If only for Rick to show that Daryl didn't need to be afraid to come out with him, that his family would accept Daryl either way. This would be  _ their _ first step.

Rick couldn't help himself as he laced their fingers together, and smiled at the soft groan his boyfriend made at the gesture. Daryl was far from a physical person, while Rick was the opposite, and it took very little to embarrass or make Daryl flush. Daryl would just have to get use to it, because Rick intended to make good use of their time together and alone.

Not with  _ that,  _ of course. There was no way he was getting  _ that _ past his parents, but they could settle for something smaller.

Looking other his shoulder, he watched Daryl's eyes start to dart again, then come back to rest on Rick, then dart again. Daryl was always on edge, it seemed. Maybe he would start to relax when he realized nothing was here to hurt him.

“They're going to love you, so don't worry. Alright?” Rick soothed, slowing their pace to the front door. “It's just the four of us.”

Daryl just brought his other hand to his lips and bit down on his thumb, chewing at the skin. Rick knew that Daryl was seconds away from bolting, and he mentally prayed for his parents to not screw this up.

Giving his hand a quick squeeze, Rick opened the front door and walked Daryl inside. He already knew that his parents were waiting in the kitchen, a few rooms over just to make sure Daryl didn't feel attacked the second he walked inside.

“Daryl's here,” he called out, if just to give Daryl a warning. He felt the squeeze on his hand, then tentatively loosen once more. Within a few seconds, Mom stepped out first, brushing her hands against her apron. Dad followed soon after, and Rick felt Daryl almost come to a stop behind him, but he pressed on.

They met in the living room, and he was extremely aware to Daryl nearly hiding behind him, a good foot or two from standing beside him, but he was at least still in the house. Rick would take what he could get. “This is my Mom and Dad,” Rick smiled, finally looking back to his partner.

Daryl's eyes lingered on his father, who was meeting his gaze without fault. Out of the four of them, Dad moved first, crossing the room and jutting out his hand to Daryl.

“Good to meet you, kid,” Dad said, his tone neutral and monotone. Daryl still hadn't broken eye contact, though his grip was getting tighter on Rick's hand by the microsecond.

“S'a pleasure, sir,” Daryl murmured, his voice still soft and wary, and as he reached out to grasp his hand, Rick could see the smallest quiver.

Smiling just a bit too much for Rick's own comfort, Dad grabbed Daryl's hand and almost jerked him forward into the shake. Daryl stumbled forward a couple inches, and as soon as Dad released his hand, darted back again. By this point, Rick was  _ hoping  _ that his hand could just fall off, because there certainly wasn't any blood flow going in or out.

“How's your brother doing? Been a while since I've seen him,” Dad asked, with that Cheshire smile still stretched across his face. Almost immediately, Daryl broke eye contact, and if Rick's instincts were right, he was searching for the door.

As if sensing that Daryl was seconds from imploding upon himself, Mom rushed forward with a warm smile, not so subtly pushing herself in between Dad and Daryl. “Welcome, make yourself at home! Did you want to take your things to Rick's room for now? We will get the bed ready tonight, but you're free to do what you'd like until then.”

Almost in the same breath, Mom turned to Rick, and her eyes turned sharp. “With the door  _ open.” _

“Yes, Mom, I know,” Rick sighed, trying to ignore the pain shooting up his arm. Daryl was close to breaking fingers at this point, and if anything, Rick needed to get them out of this sticky situation while he still had two hands. 

“Well, go on, we can talk when you come back down,” Mom chirped, nudging her husband out of the way, and Rick took no hesitation in pulling his petrified boyfriend past them. He could feel their gaze on their backs, and as soon as he was out of their sight, he heard what was the start of Mom ripping into Dad's hide in a scolding.

Rick made sure to pull Daryl away before he could hear too much, ducking into his bedroom and only leaving a small gap for an opening.

“He's gonna fuckin’ kill me,” Daryl wheezed as soon as Rick had pulled the door behind them, and only now did he finally release Rick's hand from the death grip. “I-I knew this was a shitty idea, he's gonna rip into my shit, try to get shit on Merle, a-and on Pa, and he's gonna-”

“Hey, hey, breathe,” Rick hushed, turning to look back at Daryl. He had already crossed the bedroom and was looking out the window, like he was planning an escape. Gritting his teeth together, Rick rushed across the room and pulled on Daryl's shoulder, forcing him to look back.

As soon as Daryl was facing him, he reached up and rested his hands against Daryl's cheeks, forcing their eyes to meet. “He's just trying to shake you up. Don't let him get under your skin, okay? I'm on your side, too.”

He could feel Daryl physically trembling, and the panic still fresh in his deep blue eyes left a jagged tear in his heart. “I'm right here,” he breathed, gentling his grasp on Daryl. He held Daryl's gaze, and bit by bit, the trembling faded.

A flare of anger raged deep in his belly at his father for doing this to Daryl, but he stuffed it down. Now wasn't the time. Right now, he had to make sure Daryl would be okay.

When Daryl was no longer shaking, Rick let his hands slip down from his cheeks, running down the back of his neck and letting his fingers brush against the edges of his thick hair. “I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere.”

All Daryl did was nod, and that was all Rick needed. With agonizingly slow movements, Rick leaned in and brushed his lips against Daryl's cheek first, then migrated to Daryl's own soft lips. The fact that Daryl met him for the kiss left a little thrill inside him, like a bird fluttering under his ribs, searching for its freedom.

Even the softest touches left tingles beneath Rick's skin, how Daryl's warm breath ran across his own lips, and for just a moment, he felt Daryl's hand brush against his side, reaching for him.

But then Rick heard the telltale squeak of the staircase, and the hand darted away again. Though his body ached, in more ways than one, to pull Daryl closer, Rick finally moved back and turned to the door. He desperately hoped that Daryl wouldn't see his disappointment at another failure.

He was so close. Every day, Rick got a little bit closer, and gained a bit more ground, but it was a constant struggle. If only the world would leave them in peace, just a little while. Then maybe Daryl would finally let Rick inside those deep depths of his heart.

“Are you hungry, Daryl? Dinner won't be ready for another hour, but I've got plenty of snacks,” Mom said as she poked her head through the opening, completely aware of what she was interrupting.

When Daryl didn't answer right away, Rick made sure to give him a little nudge. “N-no, ma'am, I can wait,” Daryl finally said, “Thank you.”

“Aw, aren't you a sweetheart?” Mom couldn't help but gush, opening the door wider and stepping into the room. “No need to be so formal, call me whatever you're comfortable with. Ma'am, Mrs. Grimes, Allison, or Mom works too!”

Daryl gave a hesitant, dry chuckle, and Rick tried his best to not cringe. Mom had a habit of being a bit… forward. At least right now, it was working to help tear down the boundaries Daryl had already expected.

“And don't mind Jeffrey, he's a good man when he doesn't have his head in his ass.”

This time, Rick snorted and ducked his head. While Dad may be a police officer, the deputy to the sheriff and everything, the master of the household will always be Mom.

“A-alright,” Daryl chuckled again, this time with a bit more confidence. That seemed to be good enough for Mom, as she grinned and walked back through the doorway.

Though she did make a show out of pushing the door completely open, almost slamming it into the wall. “Keep yourselves decent! You two may be cute together, but I'm too young for grandkids!”

_ “Mom!” _

* * *

Dinner came after an awkward hour of sitting in the living room and avoiding the tough questions, and of course, sitting down at a dinner table did not ease the assault.

Daryl was sat between Rick and Mom, which meant that Dad was on the other side of the table facing him. It led to him almost staring Daryl down with every single bite of food, which in turn made Daryl try to eat as little as possible.

Rick knew that Daryl was hungry. Daryl was always hungry. And now he had a bounty of food in front of him and was almost being punished for every bite he took. Within the first few minutes, Rick had to throw the first conversation out to distract them.

“Are you on call today, Dad?” Rick asked, keeping his eyes on Dad and trying to contain the relief when their eyes met. As if he had been freed from chains, Daryl pulled his plate closer and carefully pulled some more turkey onto his plate.

“I shouldn't be, but you know how they can be. Can't keep their head outta their asses,” Dad sighed, taking a sip of his drink. “I think Sheriff's got ‘em in line, though. We'll have our Christmas party tomorrow.”

“Is Mom going with?”

“Nah, I won't be staying for long, anyway. It's always the same thing, Sheriff is a tight-ass, he gets called out, then everyone gets drunk behind his back.”

Rick chuckled, looking back to his plate. With a small glance to the side, he saw Daryl taking another portion of food. Good. He needed to fill out a little bit.

“So, Daryl.”

Ah, shit. It didn't last long. Both he and Rick winced in their chairs, and Daryl stared down at his plate.

“Rick's planning on going to the academy after he graduates. What's next for you if you graduate?”

“I, uh. I'm working at Dale's shop,” Daryl stuttered out, his eyes staying down.

“Gonna go to college?”

“H-haven't… Not sure.”

“Hm.”

Rick glared up at his father as much as he could muster. “He's working hard. He helped fix up that bike when he had the time. Runs great. Dale's glad to have him.”

“Did you fix up that bike by yourself?” Mom chirped in, a desperate attempt to derail the conversation. While Daryl still seemed uncomfortable about being the focus of the conversation, he managed to meet her eyes and give a slight, sheepish smile.

“Yeah. Uh, t'was my brother's. I just tweaked it, s'all.”

“I remember when Jeff tried to change his own oil once,” Mom said, and then came the sly grin. As soon as those words came from her mouth, Dad groaned and stuffed a piece of turkey into his mouth in any attempt to avoid the story.

She told it anyway. About how he managed to stick a hole in the gas container. While Daryl had tried his hardest to stay polite, he couldn't hold back a snort. Rick straight up laughed, and Dad just grumbled in his chair.

As soon as Dad was taken down a peg or two, the conversation came easier. There came a story about when Rick was a kid and how he tore open all the presents open on Christmas Eve, and that's why no presents were allowed to be open before Christmas. Then Rick told the story about how Daryl had almost broken his ankle to score a winning touchdown for football this year, if just to help boost Daryl's confidence.

Daryl even told a story about hunting with his brother, before Merle went off to war. They didn't find anything until Merle started driving them home, then they hit a deer by accident.

“Must have eaten well,” Dad chimed in, and Daryl nodded, that sheepish smile still present.

“Yeah. Had t'come up with new ways to cook it.”

“Do you always have to hunt for food?”

Daryl's hands paused halfway through him taking another bite of food, his eyes flicking up to meet Dad. Their gazes met, and Rick could feel the room turn to ice.

“You can take the leftovers if you want. Should last you until the end of winter break.”

“We're done here,” Rick snapped, standing up from the table and nearly pushing his chair over. “C'mon, Daryl, we can eat in the living room.”

“Sit down, Richard,” Dad said smoothly, and a shiver ran down his spine.

Yet he refused to stop, instead taking another heap of food and dumping it onto his plate. He piled up his things on the plate and took Daryl's plate as well, then walked away from the kitchen.

He heard Dad call after him, but Rick just walked into the living room without looking back. All he cared was that he heard Daryl following close behind. There was no reason for Daryl to have to deal with the abuse.

This time, Rick would be able to do something about it.

They ate in silence on the couch, Rick making a point to press himself to Daryl's side. A silent support, a helping hand, whatever Daryl needed.

Even before the dinner, it wasn't hard to see that his presence shook Daryl every time he so much as looked at him, but Rick couldn't blame him. Every time Dad got called to the Dixon household, it led to Daryl being punished by his Pa. Visits from the police spelled nothing but pain for Daryl.

Rick held his tongue as best as he could, though. This didn't need to be discussed yet. Not while Dad was within earshot.

It was only after a good half an hour of silence that Mom and Dad finally emerged from the kitchen. Dad chose his chair and Mom joined them on the couch, and Mom did her best to apologize.

All Daryl could do was mumble that it was okay, even when Rick could physically feel that it wasn't.

They spent the rest of the night watching Christmas movies, starting with Die Hard, which Daryl still couldn't believe was technically a Christmas movie after watching but wouldn't complain. Then came It's a Wonderful Life, and sure enough, Daryl hadn't seen that movie either. The look of horror on his face was  _ priceless. _

“What kinda Christmas movie is this shit?” Daryl whispered, his eyes glued on the screen. “Thought it was all Santa and Rudolph, not suicide!”

Rick had just snickered and edged himself closer, leaning into his chest. Daryl was stiff, and Rick had no difficulty imagining his flickering gaze to Mom and Dad, but as nothing happened, he began to relax again.

And God damn, Rick had to bite his bottom lip to hold back a squeal when he felt Daryl's firm arm tuck around his waist, pulling him to his chest. As the movie went on, Rick felt himself being drawn closer and closer, and his eyes fluttered closed as he soaked in every moment of his boyfriend's hold. Breaking down the barriers a day at a time.

_ Fuck,  _ this was a damn good Christmas.

* * *

Rick didn't attempt to persuade Mom to let Daryl move to his room, even with a sleeping bag. She had held firm on keeping them as decent as she could, even when she acknowledged that Daryl was just too shy to push the limits, knowing that Rick's parents were within earshot.

It was for her own sake, she said.

As midnight drew near, it was time to sleep. Presents would be open tomorrow morning, though Rick was unsure if Daryl would agree to stay. If just to get out of that house another day, Rick was willing to just sit out in his old truck together and watch the world pass by.

But while his parents were all tucked in their bed, Rick would be the mouse stirring in the night.

Rick crept down the stairs step by step, wincing at the creaks that were a thousand times louder than he'd ever heard before. But he trudged on, and felt his heart flutter as he saw the blanketed lump on the pull out couch. Daryl certainly wouldn't be asleep, especially since the stairs were mere feet away.

He got his confirmation in the blue eyes that stared at him from beneath the blankets, followed by a sigh of relief.

“You're gonna get your ass in trouble,” Daryl whispered, carefully drawing the blanket back. He was wearing a pair of sweatpants and sweatshirt to bed, and even if it was a bit of a lower temperature for the winter, the heat was turned  _ way  _ up.

“I'll be quick, I swear,” Rick mumbled, throwing his gaze back up the stairs. His parents’ room door was opened just a bit, just enough to listen if there was something amiss.

Sneaking his way over to the makeshift bed, Rick sat himself down on the edge. “I just wanna talk, just us,” he said, keeping his voice low.

All the while he kept looking back to the clock. 11:46. Not quite there yet.

Daryl just sighed and pulled the blanket back up to his shoulder. “‘Bout how they know? You're subtle as shit.”

“Of course they know, I told them a while ago.” Glancing back, Rick forced a smile. Daryl was glaring up at him again, and his face was starting to flush. “C'mon, they aren't upset. You gotta come out to  _ someone.” _

Still wearing a scowl, Daryl turned over on the bed and buried his face into the pillow.

Of course Daryl would be upset. He was still trying to hide his sexuality even after all this time. After they've been together for so long. Sure, it had been off and on at times, but… there were reasons. All Rick wanted was that this wouldn't be another.

“Hey,” Rick said, scootching across the bed and letting his hand rest onto Daryl's shoulder. “My Mom likes you. Dad will come around. And even if he doesn't, that doesn't matter.”

Daryl just huffed loudly, curling tighter into the blankets.

Rick held his breath, glancing to the clock again. 11:50. Still had some time.

“We could… you know. Get away from it all.”

“Quit yer dreamin’, Grimes,” Daryl grunted back.

“I'm serious. I'm eighteen. You're eighteen. You got a job and a bike, I got a truck, we could just… go. Get away from this town, away from your Pa-”

“That ain't gonna fix shit and you know it.” The couch creaked as Daryl sat up, glaring back at him in the darkness. “This ain't a fairytale. We can't go run off into the sunset. What, we go until the money runs out?”

“But we can be together! And you don't have to be afraid!”

Daryl's eyes sharpened, and his body tensed. “I ain't afraid of bein’ gay. I-”

“That's bullshit and you know it!” Rick snapped back, only to wince. He needed to keep himself quiet. He glanced up the stairs and watched, and when there was nothing, he took in a deep breath. No, he had to be calm. Talk this out.

“It's okay to be afraid, Daryl.” When Daryl opened his mouth, Rick held up his hand. “Listen first. It's okay to be afraid, but you don't gotta do it alone. Okay?” 

Sucking in another deep breath, Rick shook himself. “I'm… trying to tell you that I'm here for you. I'm doing a really shitty job at it, but that's what I'm trying to do.”

Daryl just stayed silent, thankfully. Probably because Rick wasn't ready for any rebuttal, because… what was he really going to say? Everything's going to be okay? It would be if they were on their own, wouldn't it? It would just be them.

“We can't leave. Can't do shit until we graduate. That's just how it is.”

“Then what about after?” Rick breathed, meeting Daryl's eyes. All he needed was some sort of hope because it just felt like Daryl was always out of arms grasp. But he always had been. Would that ever change?

Daryl paused, then let out a long sigh. “I'll… I'll see if I can go get somethin’ for being a mechanic. Find a better job, somethin’ to live off of.”

“I'll go to the academy,” Rick added quickly, trying to stuff down his hope. Planning. That's what they needed to do. Plan. “A-and we can try to find an apartment together.”

“Can try.”

“Then after that, we can-”

The clock chimed in the background, striking midnight, and Rick just about jumped off the bed. “Shit!” he yelped, whipping his head to the grandfather clock. “Ah dammit, I missed it. Uh.”

Reaching into his pajama pocket, Rick fumbled with the familiar rabbit skin bag. He'd kept it ever since that day, but it didn't have the wolf inside it. Not today.

“It's Christmas now,” Rick blurted out, and shoved the pouch into Daryl's hand. “So, uh, here. Merry Christmas. Not allowed to open presents before Christmas so we're technically not breaking the rules.”

All Daryl did was blink at first, staring at the pouch. “I-I didn't get you anything, you  _ told  _ me not to get you anything!” he stammered in return, looking back to Rick. His eyes were wide, as if Rick had just shoved him in front of the class naked and telling him to recite the Declaration of Independence backwards.

“I know, but that's okay, I just want you to have it. Okay? B-but I want the bag back.”

Seconds ticked by as they stared at each other, one waiting for the other to move, just like in that classroom seven years ago. And just like before, Rick swallowed and made the first move.

Taking the pouch back, Rick opened it and spilled the contents out onto his palm. “I-I made it. Again. Didn't take me so long to do this one.”

Plastering what he hoped was the most confident smile he could muster, Rick held out his hand, revealing the present.

A leather woven bracelet. Made from three pieces of leather woven together. In the middle was a charm that was woven in place, of two angel wings. The same as Daryl's vest. The one he adored so much, the one that hid his scars. He'd found the charm in that same shop at the mall, where he had been pacing up and down to find what had to be a perfect present for him.

And no, it wasn't perfect. It would probably break within minutes because he had no idea if it could fit on Daryl's arm, if he wanted to hide it under his sleeve, but fuck it.

His movements were slow as Daryl reached out and curled his fingers around the leather, and ran his thumb across the charm.

“I-I know you aren't into jewelry, or you don't wear it, so it's okay if you don't-”

Rick was cut off by Daryl, but he certainly wouldn't care. Because Daryl was  _ kissing  _ him. Actually  _ kissing. _

And Rick didn't have to make the first move this time. Daryl was kissing him, a full on kiss, not a peck on the lips that they would sneak when backs would be turned. The rabbit pouch slipped from his fingers, and Rick immediately surrendered to Daryl's control.

It felt like it was out of nowhere, the heat that rushed through his body. Before he could scramble together his thoughts, he had his hands on Daryl's body, one running into his long hair and the other clutching at his side, if just to pull him closer. Make this moment last a little longer.

Rick could feel Daryl's hands on him, and even the tiniest brushes made his nerves ignite in an inferno. It was frantic, it was maddening, and it was over too quickly when Daryl broke away with a heaving pant.

“S-sorry, I shouldn't- I-I just, I n-needed-”

“Don't you  _ dare _ apologize for that shit,” Rick rasped back, unable to look away from that fiery look in Daryl's eyes. Leaning forward, Rick claimed Daryl's lips again, and the heat skyrocketed at the sensation of Daryl kissing him back.

It was like the world finally opened up for him, and Daryl must have thought the same, since he just about dragged Rick down onto the makeshift bed. And he would have never left that bed had it not been for the slipper thrown at his head.

“Don't make me get a bucket of ice water!”

Groaning loudly, Rick glared up at Mom, who was still standing at the bottom of the stairs. “Mom!” Rick complained, clawing at the blankets like he needed to cover himself up, even with being fully clothed.

Well, in all honesty, there  _ was  _ something he needed to keep covered up.

“Get back to your room right now, mister, or you'll sleep on the porch.” With one more glare, Mom turned around and walked back up the stairs, if just to give them a couple moments to make themselves decent. “I'm giving you two minutes!”

Rick let out a low whine and collapsed back down into the bed, unable to calm that swelling heat within him. Damn. The first taste he gets of Daryl, a  _ real  _ taste, and he gets cockblocked by Mom. Figures.

“...I like the present.”

Rick snorted, Daryl snickered, and then they broke out in a ridiculous fit of unmanly giggles.

“Go to bed,” Daryl mumbled, nudging at Rick's side. “Your dad might be a cop, but she might rip off your hide.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Rick sighed, finally standing up from the bed and throwing back one last look over his shoulder.

Damn. He had Daryl in bed with him, just for a moment. It took all he had to not dive back in, to hell with the consequences. Daryl seemed to feel the same way with the smirk on his face, and the not-so-subtle adjusting in his sweatpants.

“You're an asshole,” Rick groaned, finally walking to the stairs. He only took a couple steps up before Daryl called back to him. Looking over his shoulder, he watched as Daryl climbed out of bed and met him at the stairway.

It was slow, but Daryl carefully took his hands in his grasp and gave them a squeeze. Their gazes met once more and they didn't think, just moved and let their lips meet. Soft, this time. Sweet.

“Merry Christmas,” Daryl breathed against his lips, and as he watched Daryl return to bed, and maybe stared at his ass a bit, Rick knew that this was the best Christmas yet.

Now if only he could get Mom to go with Dad to the Christmas party…  _ That  _ would make it perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas everyone <3


	3. Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick and Daryl celebrate their first Christmas living together. It comes with its ups and downs.

Rick and Daryl… may have gone a bit overboard.

They probably didn't need to  _ actually _ put up Christmas lights in the apartment. And the reindeer made out of Christmas light were a bit much. They could have gone without the garland hanging on the doorway, and the mistletoe, and the wreaths…

Oh, and the eight foot Christmas tree that was scraping the roof so much that they feared that their deposit may be as good as gone.

Rick ran his fingers through his hair and let out a long sigh, setting aside the cup he had been using to fill up the tree stand with water again. Shit. They may have started to dip into their rent money, but Daryl's Christmas bonus would give them some wiggle room. What he was  _ really  _ worried about was the electricity bill.

But this was their first Christmas living together. Granted, they were living in an apartment that was about the size of his parents living room, with an entire two rooms separated by a divider with a glassless window to look through. Meaning technically, it was one room. Kinda. There was a bathroom, at least, even if it certainly wasn't designed for two people.

_ But  _ it was theirs. And it was cheap. And it meant that they were finally out of the grasp of their parents.

It had been easier when Rick had been at the academy, but Daryl had nowhere to go. Mom and Dad would open their doors to him occasionally, if mostly to aid Mom's empty-nester syndrome. When he was too shy to ask, Daryl would sometimes stay in the shop overnight, if just to stay away from Pa.

That was over, now. They'd moved in as soon as Rick secured his position on the force and the paychecks started flooding in. Of course, those paychecks went to a couple choice places… To the presents under the tree.

It was weird, actually having to wrap presents themselves and have them under the tree. Daryl had his gift to Merle stashed beneath the tree, as well as their presents to Rick's parents. They would go celebrate Christmas with them on the 26th, leaving Christmas for themselves.

The front door lock clicked behind him and Rick glanced back just in time to see Daryl. He still had streaks of grease on his face, and the first thing he did was toss the grease-covered working gloves onto the counter. The same counter that they put food on.

Rick wrinkled his nose and crossed the room, grabbing at the gloves. “I've told you not to do that,” he sighed, and heard Daryl just grumble in return. It was probably another bad day.

There was snow expected next week, and panic had spread through what felt like all of Georgia. Everyone was trying to get snow tires or chains on their tires, even when the snow wasn't expected to stay much longer than a couple days. It led to longer hours and constant working, and Rick was almost the same.

With families coming home and together, there came more domestic disturbances. Rick would be called out even when they would be tucked into bed. It certainly was driving a wedge between them, with adding all of this on top of living together. But it had to get better. Had to.

Tossing the gloves in the basket filled with Daryl's work clothes, Rick watched as Daryl stripped down out of his grease-covered clothing. At least living together helped something. It was breaking down their physical barriers.

As soon as the fabric slipped down Daryl's shoulders, and as soon as he saw the scars that laced his back, Rick wrapped his arms around his waist from behind.

“Long day?” Rick murmured, pulling Daryl against his chest. He felt the shaky breath Daryl sucked in, then let out in a huff.

Daryl nodded, and Rick gave him a squeeze. “I don't work tonight. We can stay in. I'll order take out. Put on some YouTube.”

Another nod. Rick pressed a quick kiss to the crook of Daryl's neck and rested his chin on his bare shoulder. “I love you,” he hummed against Daryl's skin.

“Love you too,” Daryl sighed back, resting his hands on top of Rick's. His eyes lingered on the lights that lined their walls and even on their bed frame, with mismatched colors because they had to replace some bulbs. They got them at a garage sale two months ago, after all. And the reindeer.

They'd been hoping to move into an actual house together, but their lease went on for six more months. Then they could put all these decorations to good use.

Pressing one last kiss to his neck, Rick finally stepped back and grabbed his phone off the bedside table. “Go get washed off, big cat,” Rick chuckled, letting his eyes linger on his dirty skin. The same skin he had ran his fingers across so many times, feeling every dip and curve, slicked with sweat and flushed.

All Daryl did was roll his eyes and throw his dirty shirt at Rick. “Keep it in your damn pants, Grimes. I'm fuckin’ tired.”

Rick stifled back a complaint. The first couple months of living together had been _ erotic.  _ All the sex, everywhere, no matter what time of day, no matter if they needed to work. All that pent up frustration of years of cockblocking exploded out, and it had already fizzled out.

Living together wasn't what Rick thought it would be, but as he watched Daryl strip down on his way to the bathroom, he knew he wouldn't give it up for all the sex in the world.

* * *

“Rick.”

“Hm?” Rick glanced up from the dishes, staring across the apartment to where Daryl stood in front of the tree. “What?”

“There's something wrong with the tree.”

Furrowing his brow, Rick set down the bowl he had been cleaning out and walked across the room, wiping his hands off onto his pants as he did so. He followed Daryl's gaze up the tree, then looked down to the carpet.

“I thought you were gonna vacuum up the needles?”

“I did this morning.”

“All of this happened while we were at work?” Rick asked as he ran his sock-covered foot across the carpet, trying not to wince as the needles poked into him as he did so. Glancing back up, he reached out and shook a branch.

Sure enough, needles dropped off in that single shake.

“It's not s’posed to do that, right?”

“No…” Rick pursed his lips together, looking up and down the tree. “Evergreens don't lose their leaves. Needles. Whatever. And they don't turn yellow.”

“You've been watering it, right?”

“Of course I am!” Rick groaned and pointed to the cup sitting right next to the presents. “Water it every day! Just like how Mom said!”

“Well, we're doin’ somethin’ wrong!”

Placing his hands on his hips, Rick squinted at the tree. It looked dry, and it felt like looking at the tree for too long would cause more needles to fall. The ornaments they hung on the tree were starting to weigh down branches that had no right to start wilting. The lights were starting to get hot, too. Sure, they turned them off whenever they weren't in the house or when they would go to bed, but they shouldn't be  _ burning  _ the tree.

“They said it should last us until the New Year, right?”

“Yeah, paid extra ‘n everything,” Daryl grunted in agreement. It hadn't been cheap to get a real Christmas tree, since evergreens had to be specially grown all the way down in Georgia, and it was starting to be more trouble than it was worth.

But it was Christmas Eve. The tree just needed to hold out a couple more days…

Letting out a long sigh, Rick leaned down and reached for a present. “Well, let's just vacuum it up again, we can take it out in a few days if it keeps dyin’. We need to pack up Mom and Dad's presents anyway-”

Rick's hand froze as soon as he grabbed the first package. It was a sweater for Mom, since she was starting to complain about the cold getting to her. But…

Lifting it up slowly, Rick stared at the water that dripped down off the edge of the wrapping paper, dripping onto the floor where there was a stain of the paper's design into the carpet. The drips made audible plops, and the sweater felt like it weighed three times as much as when he had wrapped it.

They stared at the drenched package, then back to the stained and waterlogged carpet, and then finally to the base of the tree.

“...We're not getting our deposit back, are we?”

* * *

Watching Daryl chuck the tree into the dumpster gave Rick a little amusement, until he watched him start kicking the bin with his steel toed boots, cussing and swearing so loud that Rick could hear it from inside the apartment. A neighbor had opened their window to see what was going on, only to be caught within Daryl's cursing fit.

Thankfully they closed their window and let Daryl work out his rage on the dumpster, and on snapping branches off of the tree to make it actually fit inside. At least he was wearing gloves, since Rick had no desire to be pulling out evergreen needles out of his boyfriend's hands all night.

Rick quietly sipped on his coffee and stared back to the corner of the living room, where three different heaters were surrounding the colorful lagoon soaked into the carpet. All it took was a crack in the tree base to leak out all the water to the mass of presents below. No store was open tonight, Rick had already spent an hour driving from store to store in search of a Rug Doctor, and no one would be open tomorrow, either. So they were stuck trying to lift up the stains with whatever cleaning supplies they had in the apartment. Mostly bleach.

A  _ lot  _ of bleach.

The presents were scattered across whatever counter space they still had, with most now sitting in the bathtub. Mom's sweater was ruined, Dad's record player wouldn't turn on, and like  _ hell  _ would they be able to get a refund for things that were  _ clearly  _ water damaged.

There were still a few presents that weren't open yet, mainly the ones to each other. Rick was praying at this point that his present to Daryl wouldn't be damaged, but…  _ hopefully  _ it won't be that easy to ruin.

He paid a shit-ton for that damn thing, after all. Still paying for it. The packaging was probably ruined but that part didn't matter in the slightest.

Daryl refused to open up his present to Rick, since he was still desperately clinging to it being a surprise, but by this point, Rick just felt too exhausted to fight about it anymore.

They had about a dozen presents that were soaked or ruined, a huge mess in the carpet, a lost deposit, and probably a full night of trying to clean when Rick had been hoping for a bit of Christmas Eve romancing.

The door suddenly slammed open and closed, nearly making Rick drop his mug of coffee. Daryl was still growling under his breath as he tossed off his boots, his jacket and gloves and threw them into a heap on the floor.

“You get it out of your system yet?” Rick said dryly, leaning against the divider.

“Fuckin’ waste of money, piece of shit,  _ never  _ getting a real tree a- _ fucking _ -gain,” Daryl spat to himself, his face still flushed. It was hard to not let it rub Rick the wrong way, but honestly, both of them were working themselves to the bone. They were going to have just a couple days to themselves, and now it was turning into chores and wasted time.

Biting back a sharp remark, Rick just took in a deep breath. Daryl just needed to let it out, and as he stomped across the living room and grabbed a cleaning brush, Rick watched as he took it out to the stains, brushing madly at the reds and greens dyed into the plush carpet.

Rick set down his cup and grabbed his own brush, then sprayed another layer of carpet cleaner onto the mess. They were getting some of it out, but who knows how long the water had been sitting there?

They scrubbed in silence, only muttering out for some more cleaner when they would run out. They would sometimes knock into each other in their concentration, causing a mess of apologies and some more curses under their breaths. It felt like hours were passing, but when Rick's arms began to burn from the constant scrubbing, he saw it was only about twenty minutes. 

“Let's take a break,” Rick sighed, dropping the brush from his aching fingers.

Daryl just grunted and sat up straight, wincing as his back ached from the work. Rick caught it even as he tried to cover it up by standing and plopping onto the couch a few feet away.

“Go lay down on the bed,” Rick said, and Daryl once again muttered under his breath, then finally hauled himself back to his feet. He followed close behind his boyfriend until Daryl dropped like a stone onto the bed, practically deflating.

Without a word, Daryl rolled over onto his stomach and laid still under Rick's gentle touches, first coaxing the shirt over his head and dropping it to the floor. Then, he carefully straddled Daryl's waist and grabbed the bottle of lotion sitting on the bedside table.

“It's not that big of a deal. It's just a tree,” Rick tried to soothe as he squirted the lotion onto his hands, then began to run his fingers up and down Daryl's scarred and tense back. “I know it sucks, but I guess now we know.”

“Still fuckin’ sucks,” Daryl grumbled, only to hiss as Rick's hands started working into his knotted shoulders. Rick tried his best to be gentle, but Daryl was as tense as piano wire. It had been a couple weeks since they'd given themselves any time to relax, other than just collapsing into bed for sleep.

“I'll tell Mom what happened in the morning. She'll understand.”

Daryl huffed, moving his head to the side so that he could glance up at Rick. There was a deep weariness on his face, like he had aged five years in the past three months.

“Shit's harder than I thought,” Daryl grunted, closing his eyes when Rick ran his hands down from his shoulders, rubbing against the muscles surrounding the spine. “Been six months and still don't have a clue what we're doin’.”

“We're getting there. It'll just take some time.” Leaning down, Rick brushed away Daryl's long hair away and placed a kiss onto the back of his neck. “Nothing's caught on fire yet. No one's hurt. I'd say that's a good start.”

“I've taken out the batteries of the smoke detector  _ twice  _ ‘cause of your cooking settin' it off.”

Rick softly batted at the back of Daryl's head, but chuckled. “I'm getting better!”

“Mmm. I can actually taste it this time. Go back to burnin’ it to a crisp."

“Asshole.”

Letting out a snort, Daryl slowly but surely relaxed beneath his hands, each stroke becoming that much easier. But if there was one thing Rick had a hard time doing at times like these… it was keeping his hands to himself.

It was why he watched Daryl's face as his hands drifted lower. And lower. And lower still. As soon as his hands started to sneak below the waistband of Daryl's sweatpants, he felt the shiver that ran up his spine beneath his fingers.

“M'tired,” Daryl groaned, feebly pushing against Rick's hands. He made sure to push his face into the pillow, trying to hide his expression.

“C'mon, babe,” Rick whined, wiggling himself back to sit onto Daryl's legs. “I need some Christmas cheer. On my dick.”

Daryl snorted loudly, but Rick could see the tips of his ears starting to turn red. He knew what that meant. “You're a fuckin’ dork,” Daryl muffled into the pillow, “and I'm limp as a wet noodle.”

A sly grin spread across his face as Rick traced the edge of the sweats before striking just between the bedsheets and Daryl's body, to that sweet, sweet desire in Daryl's pants.

The squeak Daryl made was undignified and fucking adorable. The groan that came after when Rick's hand reached deeper was maddening. “How ‘bout now?”

Before he really had a chance to brace himself, not that he cared to anyway, Daryl reached back and pushed him off of his back. Though he didn't have long to complain, not as he blinked open his eyes to Daryl hovering inches away from his head.

“You're such an ass,” Daryl laughed, his voice starting to reach those deep tenor tones that were Rick's guilty addiction.

“But I'm  _ your  _ ass.”

“Damn right you are,” Daryl rumbled, that twitching smile growing wider by the second. “And _I'm_ gonna be a _pain_ in _your_ _ass_.”

“And  _ I'm _ the dork?!”

* * *

There were many beautiful sights in this world. Niagara Falls, a firstborn child, a fawn taking its first steps… But for Rick, one of the best sight had to be a freshly showered Daryl.

Before they moved in together, it was so rare to see him even shirtless. But now he stood before him, a towel tucked around his waist as water trickled down every muscle and line of his body. He ran a towel through his ridiculously long hair, something that he knew pissed off his Dad that Daryl wouldn't cut it.

Made him look homeless. Like a stray dog.

No, Dad, it made him look  _ hot. _

Rick perched his chin on the couch arm, quietly marveling at a sight he knew only he owned. Daryl just walked without even glancing at him, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge and taking a few deep gulps. Shit, seeing his Adam's apple bob with each swallow… Rick couldn't help but lick his lips and hope Daryl didn't notice.

It was only after Daryl recapped the bottle that he glanced at Rick, then narrowed his eyes. “You drunk?” he asked, his eyes starting to search for a drink.

All Rick did was chuckle and finally sit up on the couch. Well, slouch. Daryl was a pain in his ass, after all. Daryl seemed to appreciate the sight of his awkward posture as he smirked and set the bottle down on the TV stand and practically prowled to the couch.

“Easy, big cat, I'm out for the day,” Rick snickered, though made no protests as Daryl wound his arms around his shoulders and pulled him into his chest, stretching them both out on the couch.

“Whatever,” Daryl grunted, sneaking a kiss to Rick's temple. He took in a heavy breath, one that Rick felt against his back, then let it out in a sigh.

Daryl's hand ran down Rick's side in smooth strokes, and Rick had been so absorbed in the sensation of his warm breath brushing across the back of his neck that he didn't notice the hand slowly drifting to press against Rick's stomach.

Blinking, Rick glanced down to the hand, then to Daryl. It seemed that Daryl had been in some sort of deep thought, that it took a few seconds for him to realize where his hand had traveled.

“S-sorry,” Daryl winced, shifting his hand to rest back onto Rick's side.

Rick just focused on Daryl's expression, the embarrassment that crossed it that really had no right to be there. But he already had a sneaking suspicion of what he was thinking about. Maybe it was a good time to open up the topic. God knows they need to start talking about things like  _ that. _

“Do you want kids?”

Daryl jerked as if he had been slapped, wide eyes meeting Rick's. His mouth dropped open, but no words came out. While Rick would have at other times poked fun at Daryl's expression, he knew this was serious.

“W-we're having this talk? Or, talking about this? Now?  _ Why?” _

Rick shrugged. “It's about a good a time as any.”

“B-but you only just got on the force, and there's no room, and we're too young, and-” Daryl's panic was imminent at this point, as if he expected Rick to suddenly announce that he was pregnant.

“I'm not saying now. I'm saying… In a few years. After we settle down. Not setting stuff in stone or anything like that, but I just want to know what you're thinking.”

The panic in Daryl's eyes began to fade, though it took a few deep breaths to fully regain himself. Clearing his throat, Daryl let his eyes wander around their apartment, letting his thoughts come together.

“I… I don't _ not  _ want kids. But I just… I don't know if I'll…”

“You're not your father,” Rick quietly said, watching the dark shadow flicker in Daryl's eyes. “I don't care how many times I have to tell you that, I'll  _ keep  _ telling you.”

Daryl swallowed, his gaze drifting further and further away from Rick. “...Do you know if we… if we even…” His hand slowly ran across Rick's stomach again, then retreated back to his side. “If we can?”

“I know I can't carry. I had a health screening before I was allowed into the force. And even if you can't either, we don't have to have one that way.” Shifting himself more firmly in Daryl's arms, he thought. “There's surrogates, adopting… Could even foster if we want to.”

“I-I don't know if I can. I never got checked.” Daryl's voice was getting quieter and quieter, and Rick tried to catch his eyes. He knew Daryl was avoiding his eyes, because he knew Rick would see straight through him. “Never thought I'd need to check.”

“We can start with that, then. Take baby steps.” Rick couldn't help but feel a tiny flutter at that word. Baby.

As far back as he could remember ever thinking about it, Rick wanted a family. Some sort of family. He wanted a child to go to the park with, to push on the swing. To watch them grow up under his guiding hand. To catch them when they fell and be their foundation. And… he wanted to share that with someone he loved.

Share it with Daryl. Have their own family.

When Daryl didn't answer, though, Rick had to catch his own whirling imagination before it could run too far ahead. They weren't even  _ married  _ yet.

Well… yet.

“We don't have to decide anything now. Just think about it,” Rick soothed, reaching up and running his hand across Daryl's, then giving it a squeeze. All Daryl did was rumble behind him, and the stiffness in his body began to ease again. It wasn't for a few minutes that Daryl finally spoke again.

“...Alright, so what's the damage? Do we got anything to salvage?”

Rick flicked his eyes to the corner of the room, where the stains still mocked them by simply existing. Then he looked to the presents still sitting on whatever countertop was available.

“Mom's are toast. I think Dad's drill is fine, it was at the way edge of the pile. Did you check Merle's?”

Daryl huffed. “Bastard only wants booze and cigarettes. Cigs are gone but that's it.”

“How about the others?”

Rick met Daryl's confused expression with a smirk, then nudged him in the chest. “Where's my present?”

“S'not Christmas. You'll peek if I check on it.”

“And you'll peek if I check on yours. Why don't we just peek together and get it over with?”

Daryl hesitated, biting onto his bottom lip. “It's… It's not that important,” he mumbled, his eyes drifting to some patch of wall. “I only got you the one.”

“Perfect, ‘cause so did I. And I'm gonna fuckin’ die if I have to wait another day for you to open it.”

With the matter now settled, at least for Rick, he pulled his way out of Daryl's arms and ignored his partner's stammering.

Tonight, Rick didn't want to wait until midnight. Until Christmas Day. The knotting in his stomach that had been sitting there for months needed to be answered and it had to be now.

Rick grabbed a medium sized box off the pile and turned back, grinning when Daryl finally started getting to his feet.

“Lemme get some fuckin’ clothes on, first,” Daryl grumbled, dropping his towels onto the floor and walking into the bedroom.

While he waited, or rather forced to wait, Rick climbed back up onto the couch and stared down at the box. It had been soaked just like almost every other package, but that didn't matter. Even with the paper ripped away, all it showed was the box that had held their microwave. Perfectly concealed.

It was then that time started to slow, and the lump grew in his throat. He was really doing this. Really,  _ really  _ doing this. He knew that he really had no reason to be nervous, but… There was that chance. That slim chance that this could go wrong. That this could ruin everything.

Shit. Should he do this now? Should he wait?

No, he couldn't back out now, not now. Just breathe. Don't be nervous. No reason to be. Breathe. Relax. Don't freak out-

“You gonna puke or what's goin’ on?”

Rick jerked his head back up to Daryl standing a few feet away, his own hands nervously twitching around a small box. Shit, he was sweating. And maybe he was going to puke.

No, focus. This was a good thing, Rick. Don't fuck it up with nerves.

“No, I'm good. I just…” Rick's eyes fell to the box in Daryl's hands, then to his own box.

“...Do you wanna go first-”

“Yes!” Rick yelped, almost startling Daryl out of his socks. Without waiting, he scooted over on the couch and set his own present onto the floor. “Here, sit, I'll open mine first then you do yours.”

“Okay…” Daryl murmured, thick with uncertainty. He slowly sat down beside Rick, as if a false move would make Rick explode. Maybe it would. Probably would. Don't explode, Rick.

With painfully slow movements, Daryl held out the box. There was a small trembling in his hand, and when Rick reached out for the present, he saw that his was just as shaky. For fucks sake, calm down!

Finally, he took it out of Daryl's hand. The wrapping was thick around it and messy, since Daryl never was all that good at wrapping things with his larger hands. It took almost a minute to find a good place to tear off the paper. Three rips in, and he was met with a… a black box.

No. No way.

Rick didn't dare look up, because he wasn't sure what Daryl would see. Rick wasn't even sure what he was feeling.

One thought told him that he should bail and have Daryl open his, if only for him to have the upper hand. But that wasn't fair. He agreed to go first. Daryl was sitting almost stone still beside him, waiting. Silent.

Then he pushed away a bit more paper and saw the gold engraving.

Kenneth Cole.

No, that didn't make sense. In all his searching, he didn't come across that name. Sucking in the rest of his courage, Rick pulled off the rest of the paper and opened the box. Just a peek. 

The first thing he saw was silver. He opened the box a little farther. More silver. Then he pushed it completely open.

A watch. A silver watch.

“I… Uh, you always run late for shit. So, I… Uhm.” Daryl fell silent, beginning to squirm. Rick glanced over to him for just a moment, then back to the watch.

“It's beautiful,” Rick whispered, not even realizing the words left his lips. He pulled it out slowly, like one wrong move could make it fall apart. He ran his thumb across the face of the watch, feeling the ticking just beneath the surface.

Daryl didn't speak beside him, and Rick was too focused on the watch to see him grabbing at his present.

How much did Daryl spend on this? Where did he even find it? Pulling the watch out of its box, he started to carefully loop it around his wrist. It felt solid, and it felt like it was  _ made  _ for him.

“Were you taking measurements in my sleep?”

“Mhm.”

“Is it waterproof? Like, do I have to take it off?”

“I dunno.”

There was the sound of ripping beside him, then it stopped.

“...Really?”

Blinking, Rick glanced to his side, then saw the box that Daryl was holding. Not the microwave box. But another box beneath it. Just a box.

Daryl glared at him when all he could do was snicker. “I get you a watch, and you give me fuckin’  _ boxes?” _

“I couldn't afford a present this year, so I got you this box.”

Throwing his hands in the air, Daryl groaned. “This ain't the time to quote fuckin’ Spongebob, ya dick!”

Seeing the present nearly thrown off his lap, Rick gulped and grabbed it by the corner. “It's just a joke, babe. I just had to, y'know, disguise it a bit. Thought you'd know what it was if I just wrapped it normal.”

All Daryl did was softly growl and grab at the pocket knife sitting on the TV stand. They practically littered the apartment, but Daryl swore he knew where every single one was. Just in case he needed to… apparently, open a box.

He cut through the next box's tape in no time, but before he even opened the flaps, he glared at Rick. “Is it another fuckin’ shitty box?”

Rick tried to keep a poker face, he really did, but Daryl's glare only got fiercer. He ripped the flaps off the box, which led to a smaller box, just as Daryl had predicted.

“Is there anything in here or are you fuckin’ with me?” Daryl growled again, already slitting open the tape. By now, the microwave sized box had dwindled down to a foot square.

“There's something in there, I swear.”

Another layer of box was cut off, and when it was revealed to be yet another box, Daryl stopped. His hand clenched on his pocket knife, as if he was actually considering stabbing him.

Okay, note to self. No more practical jokes on Daryl in order to not be stabbed.

“You're almost there,” Rick coaxed, his foot starting to tap the carpet and his nervousness peaked again. Maybe the multiple boxes had been a bad decision if just for Rick's own sanity.

Picking up the box, Daryl shook it. Rick tried not to wince at the soft rattle inside. No, it was protected, he told himself. Daryl wouldn't be able to hurt it.

But as Daryl peeled off one more layer of box, he stared down at remaining box. It was now down to the size of his palm. Rick swallowed. This one was black, and he carefully made sure that there were no hints to the contents. No names, no symbols, just a black box with a lid.

“...Did you get your dick molded? Is that why you had to hide it?”

Rick's jaw hung open, and he stared at the painfully small box. “That's fuckin’  _ rude.” _

“That's what you get for makin’ me go through a dozen boxes for a stupid present-” Daryl started, until he opened the lid. Then the words died in his throat and turned into a wheeze.

In Daryl's silence, Rick reached out slow and careful, like a sudden move would scare Daryl away, and picked the box out of Daryl's stiff hand. His eyes never left Daryl's expression, watching every flash of emotion or even the lack of.

“Daryl?” Rick murmured, stuffing down his own anxiety as much as he was able to. Daryl was still staring down at the box, mouth still partially open, frozen in place. If he heard Rick, he gave no sign of it. Just kept staring.

The seconds ticked by, and the silence became heavier and heavier. “Daryl, look at me,” Rick tried again, reaching out with his other hand and carefully cradling his cheek. At his touch, Daryl jerked and finally looked up at Rick, and it was at that moment that his heart cracked. 

Panic.

Daryl squeezed his eyes shut as soon as their eyes met, and turned his head away. With his hands freed from the boss, his thumb immediately went to his mouth, and Rick could see the surrounding flesh turn white between his clenched teeth.

“Daryl, c'mon, talk to me,” Rick breathed, inching closer to Daryl's shivering form. Daryl just stared at the ground, and for a few moments, he wondered if this meant Daryl shut down on him again.

Here he thought they had moved past that a year ago, when Rick convinced Daryl to see someone, start some therapy sessions before they moved in together. But looking at him now, Rick was torn back to that scared kid in the classroom, huddled in his sweatshirt.

“Don't do this to me, man,” Daryl whispered, his breath coming a bit too quick for Rick's own comfort. At least he was talking, even if Rick had no idea what he meant.

“Don't do what? I love you, and I want us to be together. What's wrong with that?” Rick murmured in any attempt to soothe whatever had come over his lover. The box that was still in his hands made Daryl flinch away like it was burning him. 

Daryl still refused to look up, but moved his other hand to point to the box, though his hand was shaking as much as his body. “This a sick fuckin’ joke?” Daryl wheezed in what may have attempted to be a growl.

“No! It's not a joke!” Rick pushed against the boundaries Daryl was so desperately trying to put up again, and held out the box. He waited until he saw Daryl's eyes dart back to him, if only for a split moment, before taking in a deep, shuddering breath.

“I want you to marry me, Daryl.”

“No you don't!” Daryl snapped, pushing Rick's hand away. Before Rick could so much as take a breath, Daryl shoved himself off the couch and stalked to the other side of the room, almost stepping into the still damp puddle where the tree use to be.

Rick could see him rub furiously at his eyes, even as Daryl tried to have his back to him. Hiding again. Hiding from what Daryl somehow thought was a trick.

With extreme care, Rick closed the box and sat it down onto the floor, tucking it away to not be stepped on. If they were going to be able to talk about this, then it needed to be just them. No looming pressure of answering that question. He stood up carefully and slowly, and started walking to Daryl. It was awkward, because the last thing he wanted was to back Daryl up to the wall, and he had to walk through the puddle to do so, but he managed to squeeze himself between the corner and Daryl.

His partner almost immediately tried to turn away, still unable to meet his gaze. Swallowing, Rick reached out a hand, hovering it over Daryl's shoulder. Not quite touching, but just enough to let Daryl know he was here.

“Talk to me, what are you feeling?” Rick echoed the words he felt were repeated at a dizzying rate between them. Even more so in that office and on that couch.

Daryl just shook his head at first, biting into his bottom lip while his hands still brushed against his cheeks and face. Trying to hide his weakness.

“I'm not going to leave until we talk. Okay? Just talk to me.”

“I'm feelin’-” Daryl started, only to grit his teeth together. He pressed his palms against his eyes, as if it was to ensure he wouldn't meet Rick's eyes. “Why would you do this shit to me? I thought you gave a shit! This isn't funny!”

“It's not supposed to be funny,” Rick calmly said, finally resting his palm onto his shoulder and letting his thumb run across the bare skin peeking out of the shirt's neckline. “Why do you think it's a joke?”

“Because you don't just go off and get married like fuckin’ fairy tales. That's not how it works!”

Daryl's voice started to rise, frustration and anger starting to rage beneath the surface. His fingernails pressed into his forehead, about ready to start clawing had it not been for Rick quickly wrapping his hands around them. He felt the nails dig into his palms but he would take it.

He just didn't want Daryl to hurt himself again.

“Why can't that work? Why can't  _ we _ work?” Rick asked, keeping his voice soft and gentle even when an ache ripped in his chest. He didn't care about Daryl's answer right now. All he cared was Daryl not suffering whatever thoughts ate at his mind that were finally spilling over.

Because it wasn't just the proposal, Rick was sure of that. This was a breaking point that he hadn't seen coming. In their constant rush of working and barely being able to so much as say hello before rushing off, it had to spill over at some point. Which meant he needed to stop the flooding now.

“Because-” Daryl choked on his words, his fingers starting to wrap around Rick's and squeezing them tightly, yet he still hid his eyes. His beautiful eyes that reflected his broken spirit, still trying to heal after all these years.

It was why Rick gave his hands a little tug, and Daryl surprisingly gave no fight against it. Just let him pull his hands back down to his sides, letting him see his tear-streaked cheeks and the blue eyes that were trying so hard to look at him, but every time their eyes connected, the tears would come again.

“Because what?” Rick whispered, closing the distance between their bodies and giving his hands a squeeze. Daryl squeezed back, then clenched, like Rick was his only foundation to keep him from crumbling away.

“B-because… that's not how  _ I  _ work. I don't get good things. I-I fuck it up, and I'll ruin it, and I don't wanna ruin this, because  _ this  _ is all I have!”

And then he broke, and the tears came, but when Daryl tried to pull away, tried to hide, Rick refused. He pulled his arms tight around Daryl's shoulders and pressed him to his chest, not ever loosening even when Daryl finally held him back. He could feel Daryl's fingers clenching into his shirt, clinging to him, like Rick could disappear.

But he wasn't going to disappear. Rick wasn't going to leave.

It were those words that Rick murmured into Daryl's ear, about how he loved him, how Daryl was the best thing in his life, and how this wouldn't ruin anything. Even as the words cycled over and over again, Rick didn't stop saying them until Daryl finally took in a shuddering breath and quieted, just listening. A soft apology would slip from his lips, one that Rick would shush. There was no reason to apologize. Not to him. Not for being himself. And not for needing Rick.

“Daryl,” he murmured softly, nudging against his temple. “I want you to look at me. Can you do that for me?”

It took a few moments, and Daryl had to wipe his tears away with his own shirt first, as Rick's was a bit soaked now, but he finally met his eyes.

“Good,” Rick praised, grinning at the tiny hint of an embarrassed smile Daryl gave him in return. “Now I want you to listen to me. Just listen.”

Daryl just nodded and held his gaze, probably the first time in the last hour he had been able to.

Clearing his throat, Rick ran his fingers through Daryl's hair, carefully stroking it as he spoke. “You are not a burden to me. And you deserve only the best things. And if you somehow decide that I'm one of those things, then I won't leave. And I promise you that us getting married won't hurt us. But if you don't want to get married, then at least I can promise that  _ us _ will never change.”

Even now, Rick could see the doubt that flickered across his face, but when Daryl opened his mouth to protest, Rick shook his head. “We don't have to decide today. We will take our time, and if we get married in a year or forty, or none at all, I'll still be here. Okay?”

It was hesitant, but Daryl nodded. Just a small dip of his head that anyone else could have missed. But not Rick.

Leaning forward, Rick pressed his lips to Daryl's, and even if it was the thousandth time they've kissed, he still felt that little flutter in his heart. “Now let's get some rest. We can talk more in the morning.”

Another nod, but it took several moments for Daryl to finally shift out of his grasp. He hesitated, then looked down to the stained carpet. “I, uh. I'm gonna scrub a bit more,” he said quietly, and while Rick would much rather have Daryl tucked into bed with him, he knew better than to protest.

And so he gave Daryl one last kiss and walked across the room, scooping up the box as he went, then placed it onto their bedside table. They could talk in the morning.

But if Daryl expected Rick to sleep without him at his side, he would be sorely mistaken. Yet he laid still and listened to the rhythmic scrubbing on the other side of the wall, then it finally stopped.

Rick quickly closed his eyes as he followed the footsteps creak across the apartment, then step over to the bed. Daryl paused for several moments, then finally sat down beside him. Yet Rick stayed still, eyes closed, even as he heard the small box being picked up and the lid opened. After what felt like an eternity, it was set back down.

Then Daryl's arms wrapped around Rick's body, pulling his back flush against Daryl's chest. It was only then that Rick cracked one eye opened and focused on Daryl's hands resting against his chest, then smiled.

“...You have it on the wrong hand.”

“Merry Christmas to you, too, dick.”


	4. Surprise?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl has a Christmas surprise. He just needs to make sure it stayed a surprise.

“Daryl.”

The blanket cocoon on the bed shifted, then fell still.

“...Daryl, come on.”

Another shift, a twitch, then back to stillness. As if the predator standing beside the bed would be fooled into believing that he was asleep. He wasn't.

Not as a weight crashed on top of him, smothering him within his own barrier of blankets and pillows. “Daaaaryl, time for school! You're gonna miss the bus!”

“Phck‘ff!” came the muffled retort, struggling against the weight that pinned him down on the bed that Rick had been so eager to get him out of. The rumbling laugh on the other side of his blanket fortress just continued, and then the hands started prodding and poking, searching for the spots Rick knew would break down Daryl's defenses.

“C'mon, wakey wakey!”

“M'up!” Daryl finally groaned, trying to squirm out of the tomb his blankets had now trapped him into. “Get off'a me!”

Those stupid snickers continued as Rick finally rolled off of him, then tried to help free Daryl from the blankets. Finally seeing a gap, Daryl poked his head through and sucked in a deep breath of fresh air. The equally stupid grin that he was met with made a soft flush fill his cheeks. Stupid asshole.

“We don't gotta be there until night, what the fuck!” Daryl complained, rubbing his hands against his crusty eyes still filled with sleep. “It's only…” Daryl glanced to the alarm clock, then froze.

Fuck.

“You were tired, so I… let you sleep in,” Rick said, his giggles finally under some amount of control. He followed Daryl's gaze to the clock, which read 2:37 PM. “I know you haven't gotten a lot of sleep lately, so this was your catch-up day. Consider it a Christmas gift.”

Daryl scowled at the clock, trying to ignore the guilt eating in his stomach. Or maybe that wasn't guilt. Why was this such a pain in the ass? Groaning, Daryl dropped his head back into the pillow and stared at the ceiling.

He listened to Rick slowly maneuvering himself on the bed and lay beside him, and he didn't have to look to know that Rick was frowning. “You feeling okay? We can stay home if you aren't feeling up to it. I can call Michonne, it's not a big deal-”

“Shut up, I'm fine,” Daryl grumbled, rubbing against his eyes again. Damn, he needed to get up. But he also knew that the moment he did…

“It ain't a big deal, just a bug goin’ around the shop,” Daryl added when Rick opened his mouth to retort. Further silencing the conversation, Daryl rolled himself to the edge of the bed and shoved himself to his feet.

Within seconds, a low throb came through his temple and he just about wavered on his feet. But he just sluggishly dragged himself to the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

One quick shower, two tylenol, one vitamin, and a splash of cold water in his face later, and he was more or less at about 50%. Probably 30%. Maybe less if judging by Rick's deepening frown that met him once he stepped out of the bathroom.

“Dammit, Grimes, I'm fine,” Daryl rumbled, rubbing the towel across his still-long hair. Sure, he got it trimmed now and then, but he liked it long. He also had a feeling a certain someone liked it more.

All Rick did was raise an eyebrow, and his lips formed a tight line. “If I see you so much as wince, we're going back home,” he decided, though Daryl was certain that Rick wouldn't even allow that much. He had been stupidly attentive to his every move, and that made Daryl nervous.

Well, he'd better be ready for a shit ton more of that after tonight.

Walking past Rick, Daryl sat down onto their couch, the same one that had been sitting in this tiny apartment for five years. A lot of things had changed in those years, but a lot still stayed the same.

Still had those Christmas lights all over the place, after having to shove them into their closet each and every year. They got rid of some of the extra things like the reindeer, but got a new tree.

An artificial one, mind you. Rick found it two days after their real one found a new home in the dumpster all those years ago, about to be packed away. It was pretty, with little tips that changed colors, but it certainly showed its age by the sagging branches.

Though that definitely was not aided at all by the black heap of fur lying beneath the tree, staring up at the lights with those deep green eyes.

Eyes in the Dark had been Rick's present to Daryl for the first Christmas after getting married. That had been exactly two years ago, and the cat certainly livened up their stagnant lives. Living in this tiny apartment was feeling more and more cramped with every year that passed, but neither wanted to move. Not yet. It was their home, their first home together.

Well, that was going to have to change, too.

Daryl smirked as he watched Eye bat at the low hanging ornament, a shatterproof ball, and the only ornament within about three feet up the tree. They had tried many, many times to keep replacing the ornaments, but when they would all find their new homes on the ground in several pieces and Eye lounging in the top branches, they soon gave up. Probably for the best.

“Who's workin’ during the party?” Daryl asked as he watched his cat roll onto his back, still swatting and trying to drag down the red orb.

“Abraham and Sasha are taking over the main shift together.”

“Shocker.”

“I know.”

Rick still was snickering when he sat beside Daryl on the couch, leaning over and giving him a quick peck on the cheek. “Glenn and Maggie are still coming.”

Turning back to Rick, Daryl squinted. “Ain't she about to pop?”

“She  _ says _ she's still got a couple weeks,” Rick sighed, leaning back and running his fingertips through his hair. “I think she's so sick of staying home that she'd strangle Glenn if she had to stay behind. And I bet Glenn needs a break, too.”

Daryl scoffed under his breath. “Think he took his leave too early?”

“I think she'd kill him if he didn't.”

Biting back a remark, Daryl glanced down to the presents that surrounded the tree. Eye had a habit of eating paper, but he was confident that his present to Rick would stay a secret. It was time for Rick to have a taste of his own multi-box medicine. 

The memory alone made him run his thumb across his wedding ring, and it was the rare occasion that he could wear it properly. Working in a shop while wearing a normal wedding ring was a  _ huge  _ no-no. One wrong move and you could get your finger stuck, degloved, or straight up amputated by the ring.

Rick had thought ahead and given him a silicone ring to wear instead at work, inscribed with their initials on the inside. It broke within three weeks, but Rick had come prepared, and there was now a jewelry box filled with the broken remnants of his fake wedding rings throughout the years.

This present definitely wasn't something that could be replaced so easily, though.

Daryl's gaze was captured back to the cat who was now starting to get that wide look in his eyes, ones he recognized many, many times. He stared up the tree, his body going stiff. “He's going feral,” Daryl smirked, feeling Rick stiffen beside him.

“Hey!” Rick shouted, with Eye only shoving himself farther under the tree. He still kept looking up the tree, his movements jerky and his ears pressed back against his skull. “Don't you dare!”

“He's gonna do it.”

“Don't!”

The green eyes looked back at them only for a split second, then the black blur shot up the tree.

“Get down!” Rick scolded, jumping up from the couch and stomping to the shaking tree. “I'm gonna get the spray bottle!”

A grin slipped over Daryl's face as he watched his husband try to maneuver around the tree, trying to reach out and pluck the jerky animal darting through the branches like a squirrel. It always ended the same way, with Eye suddenly dropping down and sprinting across the apartment, probably to shove himself deep in their cluttered closet.

“When the hell did this place turn into a zoo?!” Rick groaned, already setting to work on adjusting the branches back into place.

Daryl held back the words that had been trying to slip out for the past month, only letting them echo in his head.

This would probably be the last ‘quiet’ Christmas they'll have ever again.

* * *

This was the third Christmas party Daryl had ever been to, and it was always the Kings County police Christmas party. Dale would just close down the shop for both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, but unfortunately for Rick, crime never takes a holiday. So while they may be called in and out during the day, at least there were festivities to return to.

Rick had been lucky this rotation and, since he was the deputy, was able to get the day off since he worked it last year. And while Daryl was never one for big festivities or even a gathering of more than a couple of people, he'd be lying if he said he didn't want to come.

With Rick being on the force, Daryl had a chance to get close to a lot of people. Maggie, mostly. She wasn't on the force, but it was easy to connect with her. She was one of the rare people Daryl considered a friend.

Another one would be Carol, who was the secretary, but probably had the sharpest tongue of them all. With having to deal with the drunk and disorderly at her desk almost daily, she had to be the toughest woman Daryl ever knew.

There was Michonne, too. She was the sheriff and she certainly fought tooth and nail to get that position. Her not-so-secret weakness had to be Andrea, a once reckless and full of herself newbie that had gotten her nearly fired many times and sent to Michonne's office more times than anyone could count. But she was getting better, and now found herself in Michonne's office for much different reasons.

Then… Well, then there was Shane. Good ol’ Shane hadn't changed a bit after all these years. Still a dick, but a well meaning one. Well, mostly.

...Nah, he was still a dick.

But of course, not more than fifteen minutes at the party and while sitting with Glenn and Maggie, there came that sick feeling in his gut. The ham slice he had been chewing away at felt like rocks hitting his stomach, and the smells…

It was hard to shrug off Rick, since Rick seemed to think he was seconds away from dying, but he managed to slip away just in time. He had almost knocked over Michonne on her way to the table, but he would apologize later. Maybe. Probably not.

Coughing out the last mouthful of sick, Daryl groaned under his breath and rested his cheek against the door of the bathroom stall, trying to wait out the nausea still rolling in his stomach. Why did it always have to be now? Wasn't this shit supposed to be done by noon? That's why they called it _ that, _ right?

Or was that a fucking lie, too? Would it ever get easier, or would he just suffer for the next handful of months, praying to the porcelain gods for relief? Maybe he would need to try a few more remedies he found online, the crackers or the club soda, or-

“Daryl, dude, you still in here?”

He barely stuffed away a groan. At least it wasn't Rick. Daryl was actually surprised that it wasn't, but maybe he knew Daryl would throw him out for even showing his face.

“Gimme a sec,” Daryl grunted, forcing himself off of his knees before Glenn could see. He grabbed a handful of toilet paper and dabbed away any traces left behind and finally flushed the toilet. Disgusting.

The door to the bathroom didn't open again, meaning that Glenn was still in here. Daryl could hear him outside the stall, shifting from one foot to the other.

“If you gotta piss, use the fuckin’ head,” Daryl snapped, trying to swallow down his nausea from seeing his sick being flushed away. God, it smelled. Did ham always smell that bad? Or was that just another thing he had to get use to?

“I, uh, Rick wanted me to check on you, ‘cause you were taking a long time. Everything okay? I could hear you outside the door.”

Shit. Gritting his teeth together, Daryl finally straightened himself up and opened the stall. He knew he looked awful, he  _ felt  _ awful, and Glenn's paling expression told him more than he needed to know. “Just ate somethin’ bad,” he lied, walking over to the sinks and turning on the cold water. Just a couple quick splashes and he would be fine. Had to be.

“The ham?” Glenn asked, his gaze burning into Daryl's body. “The same one me and Maggie had an hour ago and we're just fine?”

“Shove it up your ass!” Daryl snapped back, anger coursing through his veins in a split second. Why couldn't he just be left alone?! No one would leave him alone! The whole ride up, Daryl wanted to stick a crowbar through Rick's skull because he kept talking about stupid shit, about this and that, about what they were doing tonight, what they would do tomorrow, asking him for his opinion, then asking what he was  _ fucking  _ feeling…!

“Hey, jeez, relax! I-I just don't know what's going on!” Glenn stammered, taking a few strides away and giving Daryl some much needed space. It felt like if Glenn got one inch closer, he was going to explode across this entire building. “You've just been acting a little weird today, that's all. Maggie thinks there's something up, and you know how she gets. She won't stop until she figures it out.”

“Well I ain't sick, nothing's wrong with me. Just…” Daryl crossed his arms over his chest, like he was physically trying to hold himself together. “Dealin’ with shit. S'all.”

It was slow, but Glenn started to close the distance again, carefully reaching for a paper towel. “Well… whatever it is, is it gonna be okay?” he carefully asked, ripping off a sheet and holding it out to Daryl like some sort of peace offering.

The anger that had been so quick to flare up suddenly expelled with a long sigh, leaving his body drained. He hated this, too. The swings. The sudden spikes and falls. Running his hand across the towel, he started to wipe the water from his face. “Yeah,” he mumbled, mostly to himself. “I'll get there. It's just… Got a lot on my plate, Rick doesn't know, it's annoying the piss outta me, and I feel like I just  _ really  _ need… I dunno, a hug or some shit.”

Daryl may have never thought he said the words aloud if it wasn't for Glenn's expression morphing into a colorful arrangement of emotions. Mostly bewilderment. “Uh…” he started, then raised his arms slowly.

All Daryl did for a few seconds was just stare at Glenn, at the weird attempt of an encouraging smile, and his arms still held out to empty air. The silence only compounded the awkwardness and Glenn began to flush. 

“I, ah. Mags says I give good hugs. So...”

When neither still moved, Glenn took in a deep gulp of air and finally closed the steps between them, and tightly wrapped his arms around Daryl's sides. “Please don't kill me,” Glenn breathed, muffled against Daryl's shirt.

While Daryl expected himself to be disgusted or immediately throw Glenn across the room, he didn't expect the sudden flood of emotion, like a water balloon bursting inside of him. The next thing he knew, he had Glenn coiled tightly in his arms, his head buried into his shoulder, and was trying to fight back  _ tears.  _ Actual tears! Why was he crying?!

At first, Glenn just squeaked at the sudden hold, his entire body stiff like he expected Daryl to snap him in half, but slowly relaxed again. Daryl could feel his arms around him give him a squeeze. “Hey, whatever's going on, we're here for you. Okay?” Glenn murmured, only making those tears come faster.

Why did Glenn have to be so nice… Why was Rick so nice to him? Rick didn't even know, but he still was so careful and loving and he didn't deserve a husband like him, and all these friends, and then on top of all that-

“Okay, don't take this the wrong way, but you kinda remind me of Maggie. It's like you got pregnancy mood swings or something.”

_...fuck. _

Almost instantly, every muscle in his body turned to stone, and his eyes shot open. At the same time, Glenn stiffened as well.

“Oh shit,” Glenn croaked, and Daryl could hear the gears turning. “You were getting sick.”

Fuck, no, not now.

“And Maggie said you looked tired.”

Shit, shit, this wasn't good.

“And you've got mood swings, and you're all jumpy and-”

“Say another fuckin’ word and I'm telling ‘Chonne that kid got made in the back of the squad car.”

Gulping, Glenn slithered his way out of Daryl's arms and took a few steps back, probably for the best because Daryl had been moments away from wrapping his hands around his throat. “I-I didn't know, I swear I didn't!”

“Cause no one does, you shithead!” Daryl snarled back. “That's the whole fuckin’ point!”

“I'm sorry! I won't tell anyone!” Glenn pleaded, getting much too loud for Daryl's own comfort. Glenn won't have to tell anyone if they overheard him  _ screaming.  _

Turning back to the bathroom door, Daryl quickly flicked down the lock. At least that way, they wouldn't have any interruptions. “I just need you to  _ shut up  _ for  _ three fucking hours!” _ Daryl warned, glaring back at him over his shoulder. “Then I don't give a shit who you tell.”

“Okay!” Glenn winced, holding his hands out in front of himself. “I-I just, you know. Kinda shocked?” Swallowing, Glenn shifted another step back and forced out another question. “This… It's a good thing, right? Like, you're not hiding it because you're-”

“Of course it's a-” Daryl caught himself before he could get too loud, running his fingers into his long hair. Shit, he needed to get a hold of himself. They were spending too much time in here. Rick was gonna think he was dead if he stayed here much longer.

“We've been trying for a year, alright? It's been kinda tough. So just…” Another deep breath, and Daryl let his fingers run across his still flat stomach. Closing his eyes, he leaned his back against the bathroom door. “I needed some time and I wanted to make sure I did this right. So I'm just  _ really  _ tense about telling people, and just… everything.”

Glenn didn't answer at first, which may have been for the best, until he felt the arms wrap around him again. Grunting softly, Daryl opened his eyes to the Korean giving him a quick squeeze, then darting back again.

“Sorry, just, looked like you needed another hug. So, yeah,” Glenn smiled, shoving his hands into his pockets and shrugging. Though the smile dimmed a little and he cleared his throat. “I, uh… I don't want Mags to blurt it out if she figures it out herself. Do you mind if I just send her a text and tell her not to say anything?”

Daryl clenched his jaw, holding back the ‘no’ that almost blurted out of him. The last thing he wanted was for anyone else to find out… But at least this way, it was controlled. Maybe.

“...Fine. But you tell her to not say a fuckin’ word. I better not get out there and have a baby shower.”

Glenn snickered, but by his paling face, Daryl knew that his point bad been made. When Daryl didn't move from the door, he practically deflated where he stood. “Okay, gimme a sec,” Glenn sighed and pulled his phone out of his pocket. With just a couple moments of tapping, he held out the screen to Daryl.

_ “Still with Daryl, dont freak out and dont tell Rick, but hes preg and hasnt told anyone. _

_ DONT FREAK OUT or Daryl might kill me. _

_ Tell Rick were talking about hersh jr” _

“...Good enough,” Daryl grunted, watching as Glenn sent the message and pocketed the phone. Reaching back, he flicked open the lock. “I'm  _ trusting _ you with this,” Daryl said through gritted teeth and narrowed eyes.

“I promise I won't tell anyone else. Promise. I  _ swear.” _ Glenn made sure to cross his heart with a finger. “So… let me out?”

Sighing, Daryl stepped away from the door and walked to the sink, glancing at his reflection. He didn't look that awful anymore, but maybe he needed to skip the ham. Just to make sure he didn't need to puke.

Glenn made sure to give Daryl a pat on the shoulder and said, “I guess I get to be the first to say congrats. Can't wait to see the little one and I bet Mags would be dying for some baby playdates.”

Daryl just snorted and turned on the cold water again. “Get outta here, and don't fuck this up for me. I don't wanna have this kid in jail ‘cause I got caught murdering you.”

Glenn snapped his hand back to his side and jerked away. Without another word, Glenn escaped the bathroom, and in turn, a potential attack by Daryl's hormones.

Scoffing under his breath, Daryl cupped his hands under the water and splashed it into his face. Okay. Deep breaths. Everything was going to be fine.

Maybe if he played his cards right, he could get Rick to come home early. Or he could use his current discomfort to his advantage. Just say he got sick and Rick would take him home. But this might be the last chance he could spend time with his friends without them worrying senselessly.

He wasn't dying, just pregnant. What was the big deal?

Shaking the water from his hands, he turned it off and grabbed the paper towel again. He wiped it across his face and tossed it while finally leaving the bathroom. So, first he was going to get something to eat. Then he would hopefully keep it down long enough for him and Rick to spend some time with the group.

They were going to have a White Elephant Gift Exchange, too. Rick got an ugly cat lady Christmas sweater to give and Daryl took one of his taxidermy projects, a squirrel, and dressed it up as a cop. Rick actually wanted to keep it.

Daryl chuckled softly to himself. Maybe he would make another if Rick was gonna complain. He shoved his hands into his pockets as he made his way back to the tables. Hopefully he didn't keep Rick waiting…

Immediately, his attention was captured by Maggie, who was playing with her phone. She was grinning up at him, practically vibrating in her chair. Had it not been for Glenn grabbing onto her arm, she probably would have tried to get up and hug him. One look at her  _ very  _ swollen stomach told him that she was in no place to be rushing around.

“What'd I miss?” Daryl asked as he grabbed at his chair, looking down the rest of the table. There were more people here since he had left. Michonne had finally settled at the table, sitting at his other side. Shane was sitting on the other side of Rick, as well. Glenn and Maggie were on the opposite side of the table, and Carol had joined them and was sitting next to Maggie. Their table just seemed… Full.

Rick wrapped his hand around Daryl's and gave the back of his hand a kiss. “Just waiting for you,” he hummed, then kissing Daryl's cheek.

“Awww, you're both so  _ cute!” _ Maggie squeaked, leaning across the table and fixing her gaze on both of them. Her phone was back in her hands, her fingers tapping occasionally on the screen. Daryl couldn't help but send her a small warning glare. Don't fuck this up for me.

Then her eyes flicked around to the others on the table, and Daryl hoped it was just her making sure she was too obvious. But she was still smiling. Grinning. Almost devilishly so.

He knew that look. She was scheming.

Daryl just intertwined his and Rick's fingers together, glancing down at the table again. Wrinkling his nose, Daryl glanced up at Glenn, and nudged his plate towards him. Glenn just furrowed his brow at first, then realization came.

“Oh, Dare, you gonna eat that ham?” Glenn asked, reaching out for his plate. “Maggie was wondering if you were saving it.”

“All yours,” Daryl sighed, trying to stuff away his relief that the disgusting slice of meat was finally being taken away. “I'll grab something later.”

Rick just frowned and opened his mouth to complain, before a loud buzzing cut him off.

“Oh, damn, that's me,” Michonne grunted, picking up the phone and unlocking it. “I told Abe to keep me up to date-”

She paused, then squinted down at her screen. At that same moment, Daryl's stomach dropped. Now what?

“Something wrong?” Rick asked, draping his other arm around Daryl's shoulders.

Michonne remained silent for a few seconds longer, before she set her phone face down onto the table. “Nope, nothing's wrong,” she chirped, glancing back to the both of them and giving a small smirk. Then her eyes focused on Daryl.

That sick feeling definitely wasn't not-so-morning sickness. But it didn't end there.

Because there was another phone going off. Carol's phone started to chime, and Shane's vibrated on the table. Then he could hear a ringtone going off across the room.

Then another. Another, still. And then came the stares.

Shane was the first to react, reaching over and giving Rick a good smack on the back. “Hey, congrats, brother! Why didn't you tell me? Would'a brought some good booze to celebrate.”

Carol looked at Daryl with an almost betrayed look on her face, pressing her hand to his chest. “Or me? Pookie, I  _ told  _ you to tell me when you find out!”

Rick's hand tightened on his own, and his face was starting to pale. His eyes continued to flash back and forth between a stone-stiff Daryl and the varying expressions on their friends. He was practically bristling in his chair.

“What's going on? Tell you what? What did you get?” Rick rasped, his words caught in his throat. Moving his arm off of Daryl's shoulders, Rick reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. No message. Daryl didn't need to check his own, though. He already knew there was nothing waiting for him.

Because he didn't get the message, neither of them would.

“Daryl? What are they talking about?”

The entire building turned dead silent, and the others were staring at each other in both confusion and realization. Michonne just crossed her arms over her chest and watched the chaos unfold, her lips in a tight line.

Daryl couldn't look back at Rick, not when he wanted nothing more than for the floor to swallow him whole. But he could see out of the corner of his eyes, see Rick grabbing Shane's phone from his hand and looking over the message. Then the phone dropped out of his hand seconds later, rattling on the table, the only sound in the room.

“...Daryl?!” Rick practically squeaked out, his voice hitching high.

No. No, this was all wrong.

This wasn't what he wanted to do. This wasn't how this was supposed to go!

Shoving himself out of his chair, Daryl turned away from the table and blindly pushed his way through the room, but not to the bathroom. No, he just needed out. Away.

Then someone grabbed onto his arm, forcing him to stop and turning him around again. Rick had his hands tight on his shoulders, forcing Daryl to look back at him.

“Daryl, i-is it true?” Rick asked, his voice jerky and fighting back the emotions that tried to gush out. “Are… Are you  _ pregnant?” _

“...Wait, you didn't know?” Shane wondered aloud, starting to get out of his chair, but all Daryl wanted to do was push everyone away, to hide his embarrassment and the tears he knew were starting to gather in his eyes.

Rick was still frozen in front of him, his hands painfully tight on his shoulders, and Daryl was about half certain he had stopped breathing at this point, but his attention wasn't on him anymore. Instead, anger started to coil up in his belly, his blood turning into fire, and rage swarmed over the rest of his thoughts.

She did this.

“Are you  _ fucking  _ happy?!” Daryl snarled, pushing past Rick and storming back into the room. “What the fuck is wrong with you, you bitch! One thing! One  _ fucking  _ thing you had to do!”

Maggie shrank down into her chair, her face turning pale, and she turned to Glenn. But Glenn was just trying to make himself as small as he could, not even looking back at his wife. He wasn't going to protect her from this mistake, because he knew first hand to  _ never  _ piss off a pregnant person.

“You ruined  _ everything!”  _ Daryl's voice cracked around his words, and that anger disappeared as soon as it came. Just misery. “I worked so  _ fuckin’  _ hard on it, and you ruined it!”

The tears were starting to come, he  _ hated  _ the tears! He hated being emotional. He hates feeling like this. He hated that he couldn't control it. And he hated that Rick had to swoop down and rescue him just like every other time.

Rick pulled his arms tight around Daryl's waist and tugged him to his chest, murmuring into his ear. “It's okay, just breathe,” Rick said, starting to pull him back into the hall and away from the others. “We're going home.”

Home. He just wanted to go home.

Daryl turned and pulled himself out of Rick's grasp, seeing nothing but the front doors to the police station. Home. Just go home. Even when he could practically  _ feel  _ the eyes still on him, Daryl marched on to the door, reaching out to push it open.

But it was already pulled open on the other side, and Daryl nearly ran straight into Abraham.

“Well look at that, thought we'd miss you two baby-makin’ machines!” Abraham boomed, reaching out and patting Daryl on the shoulder, still blocking the doorway. “We doin’ the shower now? Shit, I didn't bring anything for a tyke, but-”

Abraham's words were cut off the moment Daryl's fist met his jaw, the force and surprise making the large man stumble out of the doorway. Now with the path clear, Daryl stormed out into the darkness, climbed into the passenger's seat of the car, and slammed the door shut.

* * *

“Daryl, please, it wasn't that bad-”

“Fucking made me look like an  _ idiot!  _ Ruined the whole  _ fucking  _ thing!”

Rick caught the door to the apartment before Daryl could slam it in his face, but he wouldn't look back to check. All he heard was it being closed softly, and Rick lingering by the door. Giving him space. Good, because Daryl had no idea what he was going to end up doing.

The entire ride home had been a nightmare to Daryl, and had been a mixture of cursing, crying, and sometimes uneasy silence. Rick kept biting his bottom lip, looking over at Daryl, trying to hold his hand, all sorts of sappy shit that Daryl had no patience for. His entire body was exhausted and he wanted nothing more than to crawl into the bed he had only been out of for five hours and never come back out.

“I know it wasn't the  _ best  _ way to let that come out, but I don't care!” Rick's words continued to follow him as Daryl stomped across their achingly small apartment and over to the tree. “We're going to have a baby! A family!  _ Finally!” _

Rick's words began to break, and the happiness that crackled through made Daryl's own heart ache that he couldn't share it. No, he just was too upset. All of his plans had been ruined. The plans he had been putting together for a solid  _ month _ for the most important announcement of their lives…!

Rick followed him to the tree, narrowly avoiding tripping on Eye in the Dark. “We should go tell Mom and Dad tomorrow. You can do it however you want. Okay? They'll be so happy!  _ I'm  _ happy! I mean, we probably need a real house now and it's gonna be tough, but we're having a baby!” More sappy words practically  _ gushing  _ love and joy and it was honestly making Daryl sick.

Daryl grabbed at the present underneath the tree and dragged it out. He ignored Rick's constant proclamations of love and pride and happiness, and instead grabbed at his pocket knife. Flicking out the blade, he curled his arm back before thrusting the blade deep into the cardboard.

That certainly silenced Rick as he tore through the seven layers of cardboard boxes Daryl had carefully laid out. Pieces of paper got caught by his knife, but he tore through the notes that separated each box. He remembered writing and rewriting them over and over, trying desperately to express what words simply couldn't. Daryl wasn't good at words and the poetic shit was just that; shit. He gave up several times and then changed the approach.

After Rick would open the first box, there would be a piece of paper that said _“Your Christmas present is still on the way.”_ Then the second one had another slip. Every box had its own writing.

_ “We ordered it on Oct. 4th (I think)” _

Daryl had been hoping to lead Rick along with each paper, giving little hints.

_ “Took us a while for our order to go through” _

_ “But shipping is going to be at least 9 months” _

This would be the moment that Daryl hoped that it would all click, that Rick would understand what he meant. How Daryl would have to keep telling him to open the next box, maybe even have to cut it open himself because Rick couldn't keep his hands steady.

Then came the piece of paper taped to the seventh and final box.

_ “So here's something to get us by until mid July” _

Daryl had managed to slice through all the layers at this point, then tossed the knife to the side. With the opening now made, Daryl picked up the box and threw it at where Rick was standing a few feet away. Judging by his curse, Daryl didn't miss.

Even as he heard Rick fumble with the box, trying to find what was inside, Daryl didn't need to look. A pair of baby sized cowboy boots, and probably the tiniest Stetson hat he could have found. It was probably meant for dolls, but fuck it, the point got across.

Without once listening to Rick's pleas, Daryl stormed directly to the bedroom, shed off his shirt, threw himself onto the mattress, and pulled the blankets over his head. No, he was done for today. It was ruined. Christmas was ruined. All his plans were ruined.

The thoughts kept circling through his mind, and he counted at least three major shifts of mood, before he felt an added weight onto the bed beside him. “C'mere,” Rick purred loudly beside him, and Daryl cringed down into his blankets.

“No.”

“Yesss…!” Rick's stupid voice echoed in his ears just as his arms started curling around his body. “C'mere, my babies!”

Daryl felt his face flush bright red, and he fruitlessly squirmed. “I'm not in the fuckin’ mood.”

“Too bad!”

Rick dragged Daryl out of his blanket cocoon inch by inch, pressing kisses to just about every patch of bare skin he could find. The scowl that Daryl refused to let go was starting to be overpowered by Rick just  _ gushing  _ all over him. Showering attention and kissed and just…

Shit, he loved this man.

It was no surprise that they found themselves curled into the blankets and into each other, Daryl running his fingertips through Rick's hair as his partner buried his head into his chest. Rick was practically purring, that wide and crooked grin still on his face.

“Which one do you want? Girl? Boy? I bet it'll be a boy. Do you know?”

Daryl tried his best to not roll his eyes, instead focusing on Rick's curls and how he hoped the baby would have them. “Got no clue,” he huffed.

That grin got a little wider, and Daryl caught a glint in his eyes. “How about both?”

“Fuck no.”

Rick laughed into his chest, that grin never failing. “I'd like one of each. Doesn't have to be at once, but at least two kids.”

“Let's see how this one goes first, alright? Don't get your dick in a twist yet.” They of course had plenty of talks like this before, even before they started trying for a baby. Constantly shifting the number from one to three to two to four… The genders swapping between all boys, all girls, a couple of each…

Daryl closed his eyes and curled his arms around Rick's shoulders, pulling him even closer. His entire body felt drained, exhausted, probably for the thousandth time just today. He needed another catch-up day. They could visit Rick's parents any other day, just…

Then he felt Rick shift under his arms, shifting down his body. Cracking open one eye, Daryl saw Rick squirm his way further down the bed, then pressing his cheek against his flat stomach. Rick's eyes fluttered closed, a blissed expression spreading across his face.

“Hey, sweetpea,” Rick murmured under his breath, his lips brushing against Daryl's bare stomach. “Are you gonna be good for your Mama?”

Daryl barely held back a snort as he watched his husband, deciding that it was for the best to not tell Rick that the baby was barely much more than a weird peanut thing in his stomach. His fingers kept running through Rick's hair, just quietly watching.

“You're gonna be in there for a while, but when you come out, you're gonna be perfect.”

Rick sighed and nuzzled his cheek against his stomach, as if he tried to listen hard enough, he might be able to hear the baby's heartbeat. “My little baby sweetheart…”

“Rick?”

“Hm?” Rick mumbled, not shifting at all from his stomach.

“Since you're down there, can I get some ‘Christmas cheer on my dick?’”

“Don't swear around the baby.”

Daryl rolled his eyes. Great. He had to deal with at least six or seven months of this, now. Merry fucking Christmas to him.


	5. Cold Winter's Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick and Daryl await the arrival of their firstborn child, and they soon celebrate their first Christmas together. And just like parenthood, it doesn't go according to plan.

“Do you need help.”

“I-I got it!”

...

“I think you need he-”

“I said I got it!”

Daryl sighed loudly and rested his chin down onto the shoulder of the couch, pretty much the one spot that Rick allowed him to stay. His tired eyes watched as Rick circled a box sitting just outside the front door, trying to find the best way to pick it back up. Of course the holes used as handles had ripped through, because Daryl  _ told  _ Rick not to pack them so heavy, but fuck him, right? What did he know about moving?

Rick wiped the sweat off of his brow, his face still bright red from strain. Even so far away, Daryl could still see him almost swaying on his feet.

“Abe said if we needed a hand, I can call him ba-”

“I don't need help, I'm just trying to think of where this shit's going!”

Rick was a little snappy, Daryl knew that far too well. Had been for the past few days. Every time Daryl would so much as lift a finger to move a box, pick something up, anything that requires weight, in comes Rick to chew his ass out. It was endearing the first two times it happened, Rick constantly taking the weight from his hands and telling him to go lay down, but that was also the first ten minutes they spent starting to pack.

It wasn't like Daryl was dying, that if he dared lift something over two pounds that he would collapse. He was only pregnant.

...Well, he was only  _ eight  _ months pregnant. So he still had time to do shit, right?

Growing bored of watching his husband try his best to will the box inside with his mind, Daryl began the long process of heaving himself out of the couch, the same they took with them from the apartment.

All the big furniture had been moved in this morning, bright and early. They had the help of Abe, Shane and Glenn for the muscle and Michonne for the direction. Daryl didn't know how messy moving in could be, but Michonne helped smooth out the process. She and Andrea had just finished moving themselves.

They moved in the bed, the couch, the new washer and dryer they had to splurge on last minute and an almost dropped TV, but even with all the furniture they owned now in place, the damn house was still empty. Even their full sized bed felt dwarfed compared to the bedroom.

This also came from living in an apartment as big as their new living room.

It took longer than Daryl would ever admit, but he finally pulled himself off the couch and to his swollen, aching feet. Whoever said that pregnancy was a beautiful miracle was a fucking liar because Daryl was sick of it. 

He'd been put on desk duty in the shop since he had been four months along and showing, and while he insisted he could at least work with the tools, Dale refused to budge. He was even pushing Daryl to take leave early, only because Daryl had fallen asleep at the desk  _ one  _ time. He wasn't useless.

Muttering under his breath, he made his way to the stairs and glared up at the second floor. Why did Rick insist on the bedrooms being on the second floor? It was only going to make these last couple months more of a pain in the ass than it already was. But he trumped on, ignoring the pain in his back and his feet as much as he could.

Then there was the near constant squirming, shifting and kicking inside of him. Sure, Rick loved to feel it, but Daryl was the one dealing with the kid playing soccer with his kidneys day in and day out. Dropping his hand to his stomach, he grumbled, “Calm down, kid.”

Taking the final step up, Daryl straightened his back and groaned. 

“Daryl?” Rick's voice echoed from downstairs, feet already rushing to his potential aid.

“I'm fine, just my back!” Daryl called back, rolling his eyes so hard they almost knocked back in his skull.

The feet paused. “You sure?” Rick called again, and Daryl bit back one more groan.

“I'm fuckin’ sure!”

Ignoring whatever response Rick would throw his way, Daryl turned to the doors. Rick had so helpfully labeled each room with pieces of paper,  _ just  _ in case his pregnancy brain acted up again.

The main bedroom and nursery were right beside each other, which they may regret when they hear absolutely every sound their baby makes at night, or when whatever they may be doing waking the baby in turn. They had already started putting baby things in that room ever since closing in on the house, finally able to buy what they needed without crowding the apartment. They all sat in boxes, waiting to be taken out and put together into a proper nursery. The thought alone made his entire body ache.

Though the pain melted away as soon as Daryl opened the door to the main bedroom, and saw that black lump of fur race to meet him.

Eye in the Dark meowed loudly at him, still upset to being locked up in one room when there was an entire  _ house  _ to explore. But he still rubbed against Daryl's legs, fluffy tail swishing side to side.

“I know, baby,” Daryl cooed, leaning over as far as he dared to pet the cat, only to groan when he was just out of reach. Fuck, he was fat. Standing back up straight, he stared at the boxes that littered the floor. They still had to unpack a ton of shit, and Daryl had little to no motivation to do it. 

What he  _ did  _ have the motivation for, though, was the nursery. Rick can't pull that much of a fuss if he worked on it, right? Opening the door a crack, Daryl glanced down the stairs. Rick was still cussing over the box.

“C'mon,” Daryl whispered down to the black mass. Eye already shot out from between his legs and started sniffing at anything within reach. His tail twitched from side to side, and Daryl coaxed him to the door labeled ‘Nursery.’ Opening it, he watched as Eye darted inside, and with a smirk, Daryl followed.

Time to get to work.

* * *

“Rick!”

Pounding steps responded, before the door burst open. The disheveled Rick that now stood in the doorway took in a panting breath and let it out in a rush. “What's wrong? What happened? Do we need to go-”

“No, shut up,” Daryl grunted in return, looking up from the absolute clusterfuck of baby items scattered all around him. He was sitting cross legged in the center of the room, overturned boxes pushed to the side where Eye was happily running wild within his new cardboard playground.

Motioning to the items scattered around him, Daryl glared up at his husband. “Where the fuck's the stuff?”

Rick blinked, his mouth still dropped open and still trying to catch his breath. “...What?”

“The stuff! Decoration stuff! For the nursery!” Daryl groaned, shifting through another box and dumping it all out onto the floor. Most of what they had packed was still in their packaging from the store; toys, bottles, powders, just about everything they could think of. But that's not what Daryl wanted.

As Rick just stood there in the doorway, Daryl rolled his eyes before holding out his hands. On cue, Rick carefully stepped around the mess and grabbed Daryl's hands and helped pull him to his feet. It took some grunting and swears, but Daryl stumbled back up.

Huffing, Daryl pointed to the half-finished crib. “I need the mobile done. I want to put something on it but I can't find it!” He couldn't have  _ lost  _ it, could he? But he had always kept it safe! It had to be in one of the boxes, but which one did he put it in? Had to be in a place he wouldn't lose it, but now he couldn't remember the place he knew he would remember.

“What are you looking for?” Rick sighed, running his fingers through his sweaty curls. “Do we have to find it now? We still need to get our clothes in the closet, and everything's piled up in the living room.”

Daryl opened his mouth, only to snap it back closed. If he told Rick, then it would ruin the surprise. Was it a surprise? Flushing at his own mistake, Daryl kicked at a plush rabbit right by his foot. “...Guess it can wait,” he muttered dejectedly, crossing his arms over his chest. He wanted to get it done  _ now. _

Rick purses his lips together, then looked across the nursery. He let out one long sigh, before he motioned to the crib. “We can put it together now. I'm sure you'll find what you're looking for when we unpack every-”

Grabbing Rick by his wrist, Daryl dragged him through the mess and over to the crib before Rick could waste anymore time. “Crib. Now.” Rick groaned loudly, but they soon settled in to work.

Within minutes, the ‘work' devolved into Rick putting together the crib while Daryl fussed on what would be going where. He would get up, with Rick's help, grab something out of a box, and set it somewhere. Then it would be something else, constantly changing projects when something would catch his eye. He fiddled with the dresser and started picking through diapers and clothes to pack inside. He was doing just about everything he could do  _ but  _ help put together the crib.

“Are you putting away  _ all  _ the clothes?” Rick asked, glancing up from where he was putting together the bars of the crib wall.

“Can't put the colored shit in yet. If I take off the tag, can't return ‘em,” Daryl muttered, staring down at a couple onesies. They were soft pastel colors, pinks and purples and greens. Hesitating, he placed the pinks into the drawer.

“I'm telling you, it's going to be a boy,” Rick chimed in from across the room.

“It's my damn baby and it's gonna be a girl,” Daryl retorted, folding up the rest and placing them in their proper spots. He winced and dropped his hand back down to his stomach, unable to stuff away the flutter that came from feeling her move against his hand. “Quit your squirmin’, ain't my fault your dad's wrong.”

“He's squirming because he doesn't want to wear pink the rest of his life because his  _ mother  _ was too stubborn to ask for the gender.”

“This is the only surprise I'll ever get, don't ruin it,” Daryl grumbled, then glanced over his shoulder. “You almost done?”

“In a minute,” Rick sighed, shoving himself back to his feet. He grabbed at the wall of the crib before sliding it into place. Daryl set down the clothes on top of the dresser and worked his way to Rick, his eyes trailing across the crib.

It wasn't anything too fancy, but as he reached out and gave it a few quick shakes, it held firm. He hummed under his breath as he surveyed it from all sides, giving it random tugs and pushes here there. Rick just stepped back and watched Daryl's thorough evaluation, a smirk on his face.

“Is it up to code, officer?” Rick teased, only to grin at Daryl's soft glare.

“Gotta make sure you did it right,” Daryl said, returning to his work. With a few more tests, Daryl moved to stand back beside Rick. “Looks good,” he sighed, dropping his hands to his stomach.

Just a few more weeks. A month, maybe even two. They had time to get everything ready.

Rick's arms wrapped around him from behind, his own hands resting on his swollen stomach. He pressed a kiss to Daryl's neck. “It'll look better when we bring him home to sleep in it.”

“Her,” Daryl corrected, and he felt Rick's warm breath against his neck as he huffed out a laugh.

Daryl let his eyes trail from the crib to the rest of the room, already imagining what it would look like. They planned to paint it after the baby was born, maybe whenever Rick wasn't staying with them at the hospital. Even if the baby was a girl, Daryl still wanted a pale blue, like the sky. Little white clouds painted on the walls.

He wanted toys sprinkled around the room, on top of counters or by the crib, little protectors for the baby. They'd put the rocking chair in the corner by the window, and get a rocking horse once the baby was older. Daryl wanted to give the baby everything he never got to have. The first would be loving parents.

Taking in a deep breath, Daryl let it out in a sigh. They were so close. So close he could almost smell the baby powder. Rick's hands shifted against his stomach, following the squirms inside. He rested his head against Daryl's, and they took in the moment of knowing that they were so close to having their baby.

Of course that moment was ruined when Eye tipped over the box he had been playing inside by accident, sending the items scattered across the floor and making Daryl jump. Rick's arms tightened, but he laughed as the cat sprinted out of the room to find shelter somewhere else. “Curiosity killed the cat,” he said, earning an eyeroll from Daryl.

But then he looked at the spilled items and gasped. “There!” he yelped, pulling himself out of Rick's arms and moving as fast as he could (which honestly was still a snail's pace) to the pile. Kicking away some of the plushies that obscured his view, Daryl pointed. “Get it!”

“Get what?” Rick asked, his brow furrowing as he leaned down to the mess. He squinted to where Daryl was pointing then blinked. Reaching out, he carefully tugged free a plastic bag and held it up to see.

The dreamcatcher was tucked inside the bag, its color starting to fade from its age, but Daryl snatched it out of his grasp.

“Where did you keep that all this time? I haven't seen it in years!” Rick asked, his wide eyes following Daryl as he made his way back to the crib. 

Daryl just ignored him and opened up the bag, carefully taking out the dreamcatcher. The feathers hung down from the hoop, some of them frayed but all still holding together. After what had to be a decade and a half, it still was as beautiful as ever. And now it had more dreams to catch.

He took the hanging loop and secured it around the mobile, turned it on, then stepped back with a grin. Just as he had predicted, the mobile spun slowly, the small animals hanging down rotating along with the dreamcatcher. The feathers dangled down just far enough to be out of reach of the baby, and Daryl stared at the charm hanging from the middle feather.

The leather bracelet Rick had given him back when they were eighteen had broken within the year, but Daryl still held onto the winged charm after all this time. He'd put it on key rings, necklaces, anything to keep it close, and now it would watch over their baby.

As Daryl watched the mobile spin, Rick reached out and let the feathers brush against his hand. His grin grew wider, and if Daryl wasn't mistaken, there was  a suspicious sheen in his eyes. “It's perfect,” he breathed, touching the charm for a moment then letting it hang back down.

Then Rick straightened suddenly, flashing the grin to Daryl. “Wait right there,” he said, before dashing out of the nursery. Daryl just blinked for several moments and listened to Rick's footsteps as he bolted down the stairs, then heard the front door open and shut. Then there was silence, then the front door opened and shut again. He counted the rushed steps, Rick almost tripping, then Rick bolted through the door and back to the crib.

He moved his body to block Daryl's view, but when he opened his mouth to complain, Rick stepped away and motioned to the catcher.

Now hanging beside the charm was the small wooden wolf Daryl had made all those years ago, dangling from a strand of feathers tied tight around it. The wolf spun with the rest of the feathers and the original plush animals on the mobile.

“I thought you lost it,” Daryl breathed, reaching out and turning off the mobile if just to get a closer look. He touched the wolf, running his fingers across the grooves he had cut in. He still remembered the nights he spent working on it, huddled in his room and using a flashlight to help see what he was doing. It didn't help much, because he kept nicking every single one of his fingers, and they stung just thinking about it.

“Nah, I wouldn't lose it,” Rick chuckled, his grin still stretching farther. “I always had it in the cruiser in the glove box. So you were always there to protect me, my big strong wolf.”

A rush of warmth almost tipped Daryl off balance, but he chalked that up to hormones. And the tears in his eyes, those were hormones, too. He wasn't actually crying. Just hormones. He wiped away at his tears, cursing under his breath, until he felt Rick's lips press to his cheek.

“You're my big, strong mama wolf,” Rick hummed into his ear, his arms surrounding Daryl's stomach again. “And I'll be the papa wolf. And soon we'll have our little cub."

“That's fuckin’ cheesy,” Daryl laughed, still trying to wipe away the invading tears. But he smiled anyway, and felt a bit of pride. Their little pack was about to get bigger.

Rick reached out with one hand and turned the mobile back on, and they watched the dreamcatcher spin. Their dreams were held within those strands, and soon, their baby would sleep beneath it.

Their dreams were about to come true.

* * *

“No, we're not going to make it down. Carl's teething for sure, and he's running a fever.”

Rick rubbed at his eyes before he winced at another loud cry. His hand on the phone tightened before he glanced out into the living room again. Daryl was still pacing, but judging by his slumped shoulders and the drag to his steps, it wasn't helping.

“There's no one open, we ran out of ibuprofen already,” Rick groaned and pinched at the bridge of his nose. “Our only option is the ER if it gets bad enough, but driving out there in the snow is going to be a nightmare, and there might not be anything they can do, anyway.” Peeling his eyes away from his husband and son, Rick glanced to the coffee maker. They had become slaves to it for the past three days in a row, downing cup after cup whether they wanted to or not.

First it had just been constipation. Then a cold, followed by vomiting. And now to round it all off, Carl was teething. Here he thought that the weeks-long colic episode when Carl had been three months old would be the end of it. Parenthood certainly proved him wrong again. 

Of all the nights it had to happen, though, it had to be Christmas. Carl's  _ first  _ Christmas. Every store within a hundred miles was closed, they were running out of options, and almost depleted of sanity.

Rick only half listened to the sympathy Michonne transferred over the phone from the rest of the squad, almost all of them gathered for the traditional party at the station. He almost wished to stay on the phone to have one more moment away from the tension in the living room.

“Yeah, Merry Christmas,” Rick sighed and hung up, setting the phone down on the counter. Grabbing the washrag again, he ran it under the cold water and wrang it out.

Teething came with a lot more side effects than Rick hadn't been prepared for. Carl didn't want to drink, didn't want to use his teething ring, all he could do was cry and be in pain. Had this happened at any other time, Rick would have sprung to the nearest store and found the handy numbing cream that all the baby blogs praised. But no, they had cold water and hugs. Lotta good that was doing right now.

Rick hesitantly walked back into the living room, where Daryl had plopped onto the couch with a loud groan. Resting his head back, Daryl's eyes fluttered open to meet Rick's. There was a silent plea for help that Rick couldn't answer any better than Daryl could.

“Rag,” Daryl sighed, laying Carl down against his chest and holding out one arm. His other hand went to Carl's mouth, where Carl took a finger and started to gum against it for any relief. When it did nothing but hurt, Carl wailed again.

Rick swallowed down the ache of seeing his son in so much pain and handed the rag down to his husband. “We need to get his fluids back up,” Rick murmured, running his hand through his hair. “He's been crying too long, hasn't drank anything.”

“You think I don't know that?” Daryl snapped, giving Rick a weak glare. But he focused back down to their son, nudging the wet cloth in between his lips. Thankfully, Carl took to it immediately and chewed away at it. “Keep the rag wet next time, get water that way.”

Rick bit back his words to remind Daryl that he had told Rick to not keep the rag so wet because it just got water everywhere and nodded. Moving around the couch, Rick sat down beside Daryl and Carl and ran his thumb across the baby's cheek, wiping away his tears. Carl whimpered, but his crying had been soothed. For now.

“How's the fever?”

“Still just over a hundred. Hasn't budged.” Daryl took the dry part of the rag and dabbed away at Carl's face, patting it dry. “Hasn't gone up, at least.”

“He's had a fever for days,” Rick sighed, like they needed the reminder. They'd been able to keep it controlled with ibuprofen and the occasional cool shower, and almost had it down to normal, then spiked this morning. This had been coupled with many, many unsavory symptoms.

Neither had slept in their own bed in days, always taking turns on the couch or in the rocking chair, falling asleep until Carl would wake them back up. They'd been projectile vomited on, defecated on, urinated on, sometimes a combination. It… just wasn't a good week for them.

Daryl interrupted his thoughts with a long sigh, tinged with defeat. “Maybe we just need to go. If we can't get him to eat, then it's gonna just get worse.”

“We'll have to go to the ER,” Rick reminded gently, trying to not think of the bill that will be an unfortunate Christmas present. Their insurance was already stressed from the ultrasounds, the birth, then when Carl ran a fever at a month old, then just random frets that had to be soothed…

But there was nothing they could do about it. If Carl needed to see a doctor, he needed to see a doctor. Pushing himself off of the couch, Rick held out a hand and helped Daryl up. “I'll get the car started, you get him bundled up,” Rick sighed, pressing a fleeting kiss to Daryl's cheek. All the other man did was mutter, situating his arms properly around their son again.

Rick grabbed the keys off the mantle and shrugged on his coat, taking one quick glance out the window. The road still had a layer of snow on them, which meant they would have to drive slow and careful. He grimaced and glanced back behind him. Daryl was already walking up the stairs to grab their things.

Well, they may as well get started. No use waiting and letting the snow pile up more. Zipping up his coat, Rick walked to the front door and pulled it open.

“Eep!”

The squeak at the other side of the door made Rick stop and stare at the woman, still reaching for the doorbell. He blinked and tilted his head.

Maggie?

A flush colored her cheeks, and she shuffled back a step. “I-I didn't know you were going out! Glenn said that you called and said that you were staying home and…” She trailed off, her gaze flicking to over his shoulder, watching out for a certain man.

Ever since the blunder last Christmas, Daryl had never forgiven Maggie. Glaring daggers across the room, scowling whenever Rick mentioned her name whatsoever, not even inviting them to the baby shower or to see Carl… Rick knew that Daryl had been hurt, but this much? A year later, and he still couldn't forgive her. Granted, Maggie hadn't made many attempts to apologize, but that mainly came from Daryl not letting her  _ close  _ enough to do anything at all.

Casting his gaze up the stairs, Rick winced. Daryl was going to have a fit if he saw her in their house, especially with tensions already so high. “We were going to go to the hospital. Carl's fever isn't breaking and we don't want to take any chances.”

Jerking back to attention, Maggie fumbled with her bag. “Glenn said that he's teething?”

“Yeah, he won't take his teething ring, though,” Rick murmured, glancing back behind him. “Um, I don't want to get you in trouble with him-”

“I brought things! Stuff I used with Hershie!”

Rick blinked and focused entirely on Maggie. Sure enough, she held out her bag that had to be filled with over a dozen items inside. Creams, teething rings, medication, and… was that whiskey?

He gulped, his gut twisting up. Daryl was going to  _ absolutely  _ lose his shit, now.

“Is the car not starting?”

Rick turned quickly, doing his best to shield Maggie from Daryl's view, but the second he met his husband's eyes, he knew it was too late. Daryl's arms tightened around a now bundled up baby Carl, while letting Carl gum against his fingers again. “The fuck's she doing here?” Daryl muttered, his eyes narrowed to slits. “We ain't going to the damn party!”

Maggie nudged against Rick's side and he relented, letting her into the house and out of the snow. With her bag still tight in her hands, she held it out for Daryl to see. “I heard Carl wasn't feeling well, and I just- I want to help.”

“You gonna tell everyone we can't take care of him ourselves? That we ain't doing anything about it?” Daryl snapped without mercy, his teeth clenching together.

Rick couldn't help but wince and step back in front of Maggie. “Daryl, that's not necessary-”

“Don't matter, ‘cause we're leaving. Don't need help from Mary fuckin’ Poppins.”

“Wait!” Maggie tried again, even as Daryl started walking to the front door. She stepped in front of him, careful to try to leave some distance between themselves. “I know you're still mad at me, but I'm really here to help. I went through this with Hershie, and Daddy taught me a few things when Beth was a baby.”

Daryl firmed his jaw, but did not move to the door. His eyes darted down to the bag, before he glared her down again. “You're not giving Carl fuckin’ whiskey. Get that shit  _ out  _ of my house!” he growled, low and hard, and his body became tense.

This was exactly what Rick knew would happen the second he saw that bottle. It was no secret that there was not an ounce of alcohol in their home, not a can of beer or bottle of wine to be found. Anyone who knew of Daryl's past would understand why, and it had been a hurdle they had to jump through.

Shane would always bring a case of beer when he and Rick would watch sports at the apartment, and the moment Daryl saw it, he was out the door. He would not come back until hours later, and refused to say a word. It took multiple sessions with their therapist until Daryl finally admitted that he couldn't look at alcohol without thinking about his father and all the beatings that it caused.

For every childhood ailment, it was treated with; take a swig of liquor, quit complaining and sleep it off. That was until Daryl's mother died, and his father kept all the liquor for himself. Having grown up in a home surrounded by booze, moving out of that house had been Daryl's first breath of fresh air. Ever since that session, Rick had sworn to not keep a drop in the house and the rule applied to whoever may stop over.

This was breaking that very fragile rule.

At first, Maggie just blinked with wide, stunned eyes before she shook her head. “No, you don't drink it! You rub it on his gums! With a Q-tip! Daddy swore by it and it worked for Hershie, too.”

While the idea of giving alcohol in  _ any  _ capacity to Carl was far from the solutions Rick had in mind, in theory, it might work. Might.

Daryl narrowed his eyes to slits and then glanced back down into her bag. “...I ain't doin’ the whiskey unless nothing else works. I need his fever down-”

“I brought tylenol! Loads of it!” Maggie proudly proclaimed, sticking her hand inside and pulling out a little box. “Hershie is too big for the infant one, but it's still good for another month. And I got other stuff, too. Daddy had a lot of home remedies and recipes, and I just…” Maggie flushed and dropped her head.

“I just want to help. I know it's hard and it's stressful and it's not your fault. It's just how babies are.”

The corner of Daryl's lips twitched, and his eyes were flicking between Maggie, the bag, and the sniffling infant in his arms still trying to chew on his finger. Daryl was never one to ask for help, but even he had to admit that their hands were tied. After passing one more look over to Rick, he let out a long sigh

“...What else you got?”

* * *

For what felt like the first time in days, there was silence. It may have taken two hours of guesswork and attempts, but there was silence. Rick pulled the temple thermometer from Carl's forehead and glanced at the numbers, then let out a sigh.

“99.7. That's the lowest it's been in a while.”

Maggie didn't bother to hide her grin, or the small bounce on her toes. “Good! Great! I knew something was bound to work!”

Rick just chuckled to himself, his weariness making his mind grow fuzzy to anything but relief. It took a combination of tylenol, a cool shower and the whiskey on the gums to finally bring some comfort to Carl. He was asleep against Daryl's chest, fingers momentarily clenching into his drool soaked shirt. He'd fallen asleep not long after the whiskey treatment, and judging by how he still had a bit of Daryl's shirt in his mouth, the pain must have finally been soothed.

Setting the thermometer down, Rick forced himself up to his feet and held his arms out to Maggie. “I don't know how we can thank you,” he breathed, almost knocked over when Maggie quickly accepted his offered hug.

“Don't worry about it! I'm glad he's feeling better. Glenn told me that you were a little worse for wear at work, anyway,” Maggie chirped as she gave Rick one more squeeze. Though she soon lifted her head to look back at Daryl and hesitated. “I just wanted to see the little guy, too. I haven't seen him since you came to the station with Carl a month ago.”

Rick tried his best not to wince. It had been by chance that Maggie had been at the station at the same time, bringing Glenn lunch. Daryl had almost snarled at her when she got within feet of Carl and almost left on the spot. That had been one of the few times Maggie had ever seen Carl.

Daryl shifted his arms around his son, his head leaned back into the cushion and much too exhausted to even glare at the memory. “Might bring him by again when he gets better,” he grunted, then closed his eyes.

Her grin getting a little wider, Maggie squirmed out of Rick's grasp and went back to her bag. She took out a few bottles of the medication they had used and set them on the table. “Just in case his fever acts up again,” she said, then paused with her hands still in the bag.

“Um… Since it worked, did you want to keep this around? Me and Glenn just have it for Hershie, anyway,” Maggie carefully asked as she picked up the bottle of whiskey. The bottle was still mostly full as she held it out tentatively.

Daryl's eyes fluttered open again and locked onto the bottle. For a few long moments, he chewed on his bottom lip in deliberation. Rick had to hold back the automatic response that Daryl wouldn't want it. He at least seemed to be thinking about it… He already had fought against the idea for a solid hour of using it, but now that he saw with his own eyes that it worked…

He held out his hand and motioned for her to bring it closer. “I'm giving it back when I'm done with it.”

Rick let out the breath he had been holding in a rush. They made progress today. When Rick got up this morning and was immediately vomited on by Carl, he did not expect anything good to come from this Christmas.

When Daryl closed his eyes again, Rick took that as his cue. He tapped Maggie's shoulder and nodded his head to the door. While she immediately looked disappointed, she nodded.

“Thank you again,” Rick quietly said as he helped Maggie with her coat. “I'll see if I can talk him into some play dates with you and Hershel.”

Maggie flashed a grin his way and nodded. “I'm glad I could help. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Mags. Give Hershel a kiss for me,” Rick chuckled, then watched as she made her way out to her car. He couldn't help but detect a bit of a skip in her step. They made progress today, that's all Rick could hope for.

“Did you want me to put Carl to bed-” Rick began before he stopped once his eyes casted back to the living room, and that familiar sound reached his ears.

Snoring. Daryl was asleep with his arms still curled protectively around Carl. The sight alone made his heart melt into his chest and his smile grew wider.

Being as quiet as he could, Rick picked up a displaced blanket off the floor and tucked it around Daryl's sleeping body, careful to make sure he didn't cover Carl. They only just got his fever down, after all. It took some time and a few awkward squirms, but Rick managed to work himself under the blanket and laid Daryl back against his chest.

Neither of them stirred, lost to the world around them, and Rick was fine with that. He pressed a kiss to the crook of Daryl's neck and wrapped his arms around his family, holding them close to his chest and closer to his heart.

“Merry Christmas,” he whispered, and let his eyes close as he joined his family in sleep.


	6. New Life, New Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick, Daryl and Carl spend one last Christmas with just the three of them, because there was one more homemade gift on the way. Then Carl has the opportunity to start his own homemade gifts.

“Carl! I told you to get ready ten minutes ago!”

“I don't wanna go to school!”

Rick did his best to not slam his head into the nearest wall or flat surface. Yes, he had been expecting Carl to start resenting going to school, having still been used to the freedoms of home for his entire tiny life, but he at least thought he had until the teenage years before Carl would start fighting against it. Instead, it was just two weeks into kindergarten and the novelty has worn off on his five year old son.

“You don't want to play with your friends at recess? I'm sure Hershel and Enid would be  _ very  _ disappointed to hear that.”

“School is dumb!”

Suppressing a groan, Rick ran his fingers through his curls. Where the hell was Daryl when he needed him? He'd let his husband sleep in because he wasn't feeling well the night before, and now Daryl had straight up disappeared out of bed. The bike was still out front, so he hadn't left for work yet. And it wasn't like him to ignore Carl before he went to school for the day. In fact, Daryl usually was the one to get Carl out of bed and ready for school.

An idea popped into his mind and Rick looked back to the bedroom door. “I'll throw in a brownie for lunch.”

There was silence on the other side, then the door cracked open. Carl peeked through, his sleep-filled eyes squinting up in suspicion. “You promise?” Carl mumbled, still holding the door just in case he wanted to shut it in Rick's face.

“I promise. I've even got the cosmic brownies, too.”

Carl's brows furrowed together in a way much too like Daryl to not make him smile. Sticking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth, Carl finally ducked back into the bedroom and opened it seconds later.

Rick bit back a sigh. “You're not wearing your dinosaur onesie to school.”

“Come  _ on!”  _ Carl whined, stomping a foot. “I don't get to do anything fun!”

“I know, life is horrible,” Rick muttered, stepping into his son's bedroom and taking the clothes he had set aside last night for him to wear. “You can wear your dinosaur shirt, how's that?”

_ “Hmph.” _

“Or I can take away your dinosaurs for the week.”

That silenced Carl quick enough, though he still crossed his arms over his chest and sulked. Rick took it in stride, if just because he had to deal with Daryl's sulking enough times in their relationship to balance it out. Especially when it came to not being able to ride his motorcycle while he had been pregnant with Carl.

He would just collapse onto the couch, arms crossed, legs splayed out and glower at anything that moved. Rick hadn't dared to say it aloud, but it was adorable, at least looking back. Not so much when it happens.

Getting his son changed, Rick nudged him out of his room, casting his eyes back around the walls. The blue skies that Daryl and Rick originally painted were now covered over with dinosaurs. Rick had borrowed an old projector from the station and used it to outline the creatures. Carl made sure to choose the colors, and while the pinks and greens clashing together still made Rick's eyes hurt, his son was happy.

“Scoot, I got breakfast on the table,” Rick said, taking a quick glance into the master bedroom to see if Daryl had reappeared. Nope, not even Eye in the Dark was around. Maybe he needed to take another look at the calendar, just in case he was missing some sort of special occasion.

Daryl would usually be up and about long before Rick could drag himself out of bed. Ever since Dale retired and passed the auto shop down to Daryl, he'd been taking projects home to work on and sell on the side. He had two bikes in the garage, and while Rick couldn't stand all the noise he made, it at least made Daryl happy.

As Carl started eating his pop tart, Rick made sure to take a quick glance into the garage. Nope, not there either. And there was nothing on the calendar. Getting more frustrated by the minute, Rick forced himself to focus back on his task of getting Carl ready for school. The bus would be here in ten minutes.

He took Carl's packed lunch out of the fridge and stuck it in his school bag, then made another check to make sure Carl didn't try sneaking his toys to school again. Or his Pokemon cards. He'd already gotten the notice from the school that kids were losing cards or having them stolen by the bullies, and he'd be damned if Carl would be one of the victims.

Halfway through his checks, he felt something brush against his leg and glanced down to the mop of black fur. “At least someone decided to come out,” Rick muttered, giving Eye a quick pat on the back. The cat was getting a bit heavier than Rick liked, and he had a suspicion that Carl may be the reason.

“Alright, time to go,” Rick said, standing up and glancing back to the kitchen. “I got your brownie in your lunch.”

“Awesome!” Carl cheered as he slid off the chair and bounded for his bag, only to be stopped by Rick's hand.

“You save it for lunch. I don't want to hear that you ate it on the bus.”

“Doubt he'd be able to stop himself.”

Jolting, Rick looked up and met Daryl's eyes. He was standing across the living room, hair in disarray and still only in sweatpants. He looked exhausted, even when he had slept in and had gone to bed early. But Daryl still pulled a small smile on his face and held out his arms, and Carl rushed right into them.

“You be good, okay?” Daryl hummed, giving his son a squeeze. “Go learn something cool that you can teach me later.”

“Okay, Mama!” Carl gushed, before finally breaking free of Daryl's hold when he heard the telltale honk of the bus horn. “Bye Mom, bye Dad!” Carl yelped as he took the bag out of Rick's outstretched hand, and practically burst outside. Even across the street, Rick could see the kids with their faces squished to the window, waiting for Carl to join them.

Within seconds, the bus was out of sight, and so was whatever strength and energy Rick had left. He stumbled his way to the couch and plopped down, a groan leaving his weary body like a death rattle. He stared up at the ceiling as he searched his body for the strength to go on. He heard Daryl walk to the couch and lean against the top cushions from behind, his head blocking out the ceiling lights, giving him an almost heavenly glow through his wild hair. The smirk still played on Daryl's face, and he reached down and tapped on Rick's forehead.

“You gonna live?”

“Pfft.” Pulling his arm up to cover his eyes, Rick took a moment to gather himself. His shift at the station started in an hour and he needed to go get ready. Rick would have been prepared already if it wasn't for him having to get Carl ready for school all by himself.

“Where were you?” Rick complained, dropping his arm to see Daryl just raise an eyebrow at him. He stuffed his hands into his sweatpants pockets and gave a shrug. When all Daryl did was stare at him longer, Rick dragged himself up to a sitting position and pulled his best glare.

“I had to get him ready all by myself! You know he's all squirrely in the morning, it took me three times to get him out of his room!” Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned into the couch proper. Daryl just stood above him, with probably the most unamused look a human being could possess.

Rubbing his hand across his face, Rick glanced back to Daryl over his shoulder. “I think we should think over our decision of having another one,” he murmured, though Daryl's expression did not change. Rick squirmed under his narrowed gaze. Maybe he needed to explain better. “Like, what if one of us have to go to work early? If you're off… doing whatever you were doing?”

Rick shuddered at the thought. “Think of what would happen if he had a sibling? Two or three kids to drag out of bed, get breakfast, get their bags ready, get them to school, and all by myself!”

Shaking his head, Rick searched around the couch for the remote and muttered under his breath. “One kid's enough, thank you very much. No more for me. I'd have a stroke before I turned 40. I'll go gray by the end of the first year of school. I'll-”

Something was dropped onto his lap, and Daryl turned away from the couch.

“Yeah, go fuck yourself. I'm gonna get ready for work.”

Rick blinked and raised his head up, watching Daryl's retreating back. He would have called after him, had it not been for what he saw in the corner of his eye, the item sitting across his lap. Every muscle in his body contracted together, and the air rushed out of his lungs like he had been punched. All of his thoughts screeched to a halt, which let Daryl's next words echo in his empty head.

“Oh, I'm pregnant, by the way.”

A door shut in the background, but Rick was still staring at the positive pregnancy test Daryl had so kindly given him. All at once, his body jerked to attention and he was off the couch, hands trembling around the test.

“W-wait, you can't just say that and walk away!” Rick squeaked, his voice hitching and cracking like a prepubescent boy. He blindly stumbled towards the bathroom, where Daryl must have been this whole time. “What do you mean,  _ ‘I'm pregnant?!’” _

Daryl's voice echoed out of the closed bathroom door. “Means your dick did the trick and got a plus sign on the stick, Rick.”

“I know what it means _ ,  _ I just-!” Rick cut off, his mouth still moving around unspoken words. He stared down at the pregnancy test, the first one he'd ever seen that had a positive sign on it. When they had been trying with Carl, it had been negative after negative after negative, but there it was. A little plus, and right beside it was a digital ‘Pregnant’ across the screen. It was hard to see with his hands shaking like this, but there it is!  _ Pregnant! _

“You having your stroke yet?”

Rick swallowed down a probably sarcastic remark, if only because his throat was choking up. He leaned himself against the bathroom door, still staring at the stick in his hand. Almost every complaint he had minutes before had been thrown far from his thoughts, but there were still questions.

“How?” Rick breathed, rubbing his hand against his face and feeling his cheeks already wet.

“You stuck your dick in me, came, then your sperm-”

“I know how!” Rick groaned, thumping his head against the door. “I-I mean, we barely tried! When was the last time we had time to-” Well, that didn't prove his point very well. Ever since Carl started going to kindergarten, Rick and Daryl took every second of that freedom, even if it was mostly to sleep. But that was far too soon, Daryl wouldn't even know he'd be pregnant if it happened then!

“It's only been, like, three months, and we didn't even do ovulation or use the calendar or do anything! With Carl, it was like we were planning war strategies!”

Rick could practically hear Daryl just shrug in response through the door. He bit into his bottom lip and tried to sort through his swirling thoughts. So they were having another baby. That meant that they needed to tell Carl when he got home, needed to get appointments set up, figure out a due date, start setting up leave, get the baby things out of the basement, figure out if they would use another room as a nursery-

Daryl's retching cut his thoughts short, and then came the most dire realization. Daryl was pregnant. And Rick was going to have to deal with everything all over again. Sickness, stiffness, swelling, cravings, all of it, for however many months ahead.

Swallowing down his primal fears, Rick hesitantly knocked on the door. “I, uh. I technically have to go to work. Did you want me to stay? I can ask Glenn to cover.”

After a couple coughs, Daryl answered, “No, I got it. I'll swing by the store on my way to the shop.”

“Sprite and crackers?”

“You got it.”

Rick listened to the toilet flushing and the faucet running while letting his thoughts sort out again. Once they figured out how far along Daryl was, the rest would fall into place. Mostly because then Rick would have at least some idea of what to do to help. But until then, he'll settle with Daryl taking charge. Rick knew from last time that the less he was in the way, the better. 

The door opened up, with Rick almost stumbling in with it, and he winced at his husband's familiar pale features. “We good now? I gotta get changed,” Daryl grumbled, rubbing a wash rag across his damp face.

Of course Rick wouldn't just let Daryl go that easily, how could he? Not when his eyes immediately dropped down to Daryl's bare stomach, studying it, as if he looked hard enough, he could somehow see the baby growing inside. He couldn't, though, and his disappointment must have been obvious judging by Daryl's huff.

“You know I didn't  _ really _ show with Carl until, like, twenty weeks in. Then I swelled up to shit within the week,” Daryl rumbled, the smirk twitching into a smile. He dropped the rag to the side and reached out, clasping his hands around Rick's.

Rick glanced up for a moment, only to be captured by Daryl's calm, warm gaze. No fear. Just that comforting love that had sucked Rick in and never let him go after all these years, and hopefully for many to come. Daryl brought his hands to press against his still-flat stomach, and the touch sent tingles racing up his arms and to the rest of his body.

They were having a baby. Their family was going to get bigger. All the other worries were hushed as Rick ran his thumb across Daryl's warm skin, trying to imagine the little life inside.

“I love you,” Rick whispered without even realizing it, and he'd been so focused on the warmth beneath his palms that he almost jolted at Daryl's lips pressing to his cheek.

“Love you too, Papa wolf,” Daryl teased, his hands running up Rick's arms and pulling him in closer. He pressed his head into Rick's neck and let himself relax, his breath running soft over his husband's neck. Rick glanced back down to his own hands running across Daryl's skin, still searching for the sign that the baby was there.

He felt something shift beneath his hands, and Rick jumped. At the same moment, Daryl winced and pushed against Rick's chest. 

“I gotta puke,” Daryl wheezed, wrenching himself out of Rick's gentle hold and darting back to the bathroom. By the time Rick was fully torn out of their moment, Daryl was bent over the toilet and vomiting. Again.

Well, Rick got his sign that the baby was in there. With a sympathetic smile, Rick followed his husband inside and did his best to pull his hair away. His stomach flopped and twisted with every hurl, but he had no room to complain, not as he used one hand to hold Daryl's hair and the other to text Michonne. It looks like their work would have to wait today, because Rick would not leave his husband's side. Rick would be there every step of the way, just like last time. 

Every ugly, uncomfortable, messy step.

* * *

When they first told Carl that there would be a new member of the family, his immediate wish was for a dog. When they corrected themselves and said it was a sibling, Carl still asked if he could have a dog instead.

It took longer than Rick cared to remember to get Daryl out of the bedroom where his husband had been brought close to tears, thinking that their son would hate having a sibling. Ever since that day, though, Carl warmed up to the idea of a sibling. He was even excited for it.

While that in itself was a comfort, Rick wished he was a little less vocal about it.

“When's she gonna come out?” Carl complained, resting his chin on the top of Daryl's swollen stomach. 

Rudolph the rednosed reindeer played on in the background, completely ignored. Presents were still tucked underneath the artificial tree, and would not be opened until Christmas Day, just like tradition. Carl was dressed in a dinosaur onesie, curled into his mother's side. It was a quiet Christmas, since Daryl had been napping on and off, forcing the rest of the house into silence. Carl was adjusting to the sudden changes to his mother, trying to do whatever he could to help. Right now was not one of those times.

“It's been  _ forever,"  _ Carl moaned, splaying out against Daryl's side.

Rick watched the corner of Daryl's lips twitch, his eyes still firmly closed in the vain attempt to slip back into his nap. “February,” he muttered, then recited the same basic phrases that have been passed around for weeks. “Two more months, 56 days. It's on the calendar, we have the countdown in the nursery, she won't come out until she's ready.”

Carl groaned and slid dramatically off Daryl's stomach into a puddle on the couch. “I wanted her here for Christmas.”

“You don't rush babies,” Rick reminded from where he sat on Daryl's opposite side. He squeezed Daryl's shoulder and pulled him closer into his side, to which Daryl accepted with no hesitation. His husband dropped his head onto Rick's shoulder and sighed. “You don't want the baby to come out when she isn't ready.”

Carl's brow just furrowed in frustration. “It's not fair.”

“How'd you feel if I woke you up when you weren't ready?” Daryl grumbled, cracking open one eye to look back at his son. When Carl's eyes widened and he shook his head, Daryl smirked and closed his eye again. “Thought so.”

Rick squeezed his shoulder one more time and tucked Daryl's head beneath his chin. At least he could give Daryl a little bit of comfort, holding him close and letting him rest. Even when he still had months ahead for his pregnancy, Daryl already was becoming more and more tired, much more than when he had been pregnant with Carl. This probably was due to wrangling Carl up for school at the same time as dealing with the usual pregnancy aches and pains.

Running his other hand across Daryl's stomach, he massaged against the small squirms. The baby was a lot calmer than Carl had been, but there was still time. She could change her mind at any time.

Neither he nor Daryl cared to be surprised with the gender, as they had their surprise through Carl. Maybe it was because Daryl didn't want to lose again, but he still made sure to prod at Rick when they found out the baby was a girl. Daryl had just been one baby off with his predictions, he claimed.

The pregnancy itself was running as smoothly as it could, with all the usual hiccups along the way. They converted what was once a playroom into the nursery, giving each child their separate room. Names were casually passed back and forth between them, neither sticking much longer than a couple days of thought. They had time, though. Plenty of time.

They weren't in a rush like with Carl, having to move out of the apartment and settle into a new home all while Daryl had still been pregnant. While Daryl still had his shop to take care of, he primarily worked in the office with paperwork, which helped ease Rick's worries.

He still caught Daryl trying to work on a bike a couple weeks ago.

Rick glanced up from the corner of his eye and looked to the clock. It was just past nine at night. It was past Carl's bedtime, and even with Christmas coming tomorrow, it was starting to show.

Carl was curled back up into Daryl's side, eyes only partially open as he focused on Daryl's stomach. His hands skimmed across, stopping whenever he felt movement. Carl still didn't understand why his baby sister was trapped in his mother's body, even with both Rick and Daryl stumbling out an explanation.

According to their current story, babies were made by going to the doctor and having the baby put inside after a lot of… paperwork. Then after the baby gets big enough to come out, they go to the doctors to have the baby taken out and be born. It left them far too exposed to more questions, and lead to their son's sudden fear that the doctors might put a baby inside Carl without his permission, but it was all they had. They made sure to preference that they had to work hard to get the doctor to put the baby in, and it doesn't happen by accident. Carl won't get babies put inside of him.

It would have to do until got a bit older. And by a bit, Rick was hoping at least ten years. Maybe college.

Leaning over, Rick carefully nudged Carl's shoulder. “Time for bed, sport,” he chuckled, already starting to get up from the couch. He was met by two groans, one from Carl and the other from Daryl, as his husband slumped down into the couch when he lost his support.

“I'm not tired,” Carl whined, flopping over Daryl's stomach again. “I wanted to see Santa this year!”

“Santa doesn't come if you're awake. You'll have your presents first thing in the morning.” Rick reached over and scooped Carl up into his arms, and his son immediately became dead weight as he predicted.

“Nooo…” Carl groaned, but at least he didn't struggle. Not yet, anyway.

Boosting Carl up, he rested him against his chest and looked back to Daryl. His eyes were just barely open, but he was still smiling at their son. “Say goodnight to Mommy and sissy,” Rick prompted, his own smile widening every time he said those words.

“Night…” Carl muttered, resting his cheek against Rick's shoulder.

“G'night, buddy,” Daryl yawned in return. Rick wouldn't be surprised if he had to take his other ‘baby' to bed as well.

Thankfully, Carl had mostly conceded to sleep, and by the time Rick had him pajama'd and in bed, Carl was asleep in seconds. With nearly silent steps down the stairs, Rick peeked into the living room. Daryl was still stretched out across the couch, arms folded over his stomach, and eyes closed. While Rick wished he could leave Daryl to sleep, he also knew that Daryl's back would be very upset with that decision.

“C'mon,” Rick murmured, laying his hand on Daryl's shoulder and shaking it gently. “Time to put the baby to bed.”

Daryl's brow furrowed in frustration, and he opened his eyes if just to glare at Rick. “She don't care what time it is,” Daryl muttered, though didn't fight against Rick helping him sit up. He grabbed Rick's hands and Rick pulled him up to his feet, making sure to let Daryl stumble into his arms again.

“God, I hate this,” Daryl grumbled, straightening his back as much as he dared. “I'm just gonna tip over one of these days.”

“Just a little longer,” Rick prompted, giving Daryl a soft nudge in the direction of the stairs. “Then you'll be back to your old self.”

“Try a fuckin’ year,” Daryl retorted, one more weak glare sent Rick's way, but his heavy feet finally stepped towards the stairs. He had to grab onto the banister to keep his balance, but Rick always had his arm hovering around his back, just in case.

Their journey up the stairs was slow, and when Daryl reached the top, he groaned again. “I can't do shit,” he complained, rubbing against a particular ache in his back. “Can't even get up my own damn stairs.”

A thought tugged at Rick's mind, and he immediately tried to banish it. But Daryl must have sensed his silence and squinted back at him. “The hell are you thinking about?”

“That there's something you can do now that you couldn't do before,” Rick started, and even as that little voice warned him against it, that thought just wouldn't leave. It was his only chance to say it.

“What's that?”

A grin spread across his face, and Rick reached out and rubbed his hand across the top of Daryl's swollen stomach. 

“You can be Santa!”

"..."

* * *

“Daddy, are you waiting for Santa, too?”

Rick cracked one eye open, just enough to look up at his son standing right in front of him. He shifted, then immediately winced at his stiff joints. The couch did not provide much comfort, even with the extra pillows he had stashed away. He had assumed he was smart in thinking ahead with getting more pillows for when Daryl would send him down to the couch, but it still provided little comfort. 

He had learned from the first pregnancy that Daryl was not afraid of sending Rick to the couch, and to be fair, he did deserve it this time. Daryl did not take a joke well.

Shuffling to a sitting position, Rick squinted up at the clock. Three in the morning. “What're you doin’ up?” he mumbled, already pulling his weary body off the couch. “It's too early for Santa.”

“I just wanna check,” Carl said, rubbing at his own eyes. Fisted in one hand was his blanket, one he refused to part with every night. It had been his baby blanket, and when Carl had been younger, even taking it to wash had been hell.

“Well, he's not here yet, and he won't come if you're awake,” Rick grunted, finally standing up and rubbing against his back. Maybe they needed to invest in one of those nice arm chairs. Daryl always complained about how the couch made his back stiffen up, and while Rick didn't have the extra baby weight to suffer with, he could agree. Maybe a late Christmas gift.

Carl poked out his bottom lip in a pout, forcing a smile on Rick's face. Rick had no idea how long the Santa phase would last, but he wouldn't dampen his enthusiasm. Just let him be a kid, Daryl always said. Daryl wanted their children to have the childhood he couldn't.

“C'mon, back to bed, or he won't come,” Rick prompted, nudging against Carl's shoulder. “I'll get you tucked in.”

“But he won't come if  _ you _ wait for him, either!” Carl whined, pointing to Rick's blankets and pillows spread out on the couch.

“Well, I have to wait for him to make sure you get the right presents,” Rick said swiftly. “It would be bad if he got them mixed up with the neighbors.”

Eyes widening with sudden understanding, Carl nodded, and Rick hoped that the lie wouldn't come to bite him in the ass. He did need to get the presents out from their closet, probably once he was sure Carl was asleep. It may wake Daryl up, but it was a risk he had to take. If anything, Daryl would just throw another pillow at him and it would be one more pillow to add to his couch collection.

He nudged Carl back up the stairs and into his room, and of course Eye in the Dark had taken the chance to stretch out over Carl's still-warm sheets. The cat made sure to give his best glare before giving room for Carl to lay back down. It took a good ten minutes of tucking and assurance that Santa would come before Carl drifted back off to sleep.

Though as he stepped out of his son's room, he certainly didn't expect to see Daryl waiting for him.

His husband had Carl's presents wrapped up in a blanket, a makeshift bag to make it easier to carry. As soon as Rick shut Carl's door, Daryl held them out. “You take over from here, this Santa ain't walking down the stairs,” Daryl whispered, a small smirk growing on his face.

With an uneasy chuckle, because Rick expected Daryl to throw something at any second for disturbing his sleep, he took the bundle from his hand. “What are you doing up?”

“Was gonna come get you, anyway,” Daryl muttered, resting his hands back over his stomach.

In an instant, the sleepy fog snapped away, and Rick practically bolted to his side. “What's wrong? Is it the baby? Do we need to go?” Rick spluttered, his heart beating against his ribs. “I-I'll call Shane, he can come watch Carl, we can-”

“Baby's fine,” Daryl quickly cut him off, one eyebrow raised. “Fuck's sake, it's too early for you to freak out like this. Got two more months.” Nudging at Rick's chest, he nodded his head to the stairs. “Go put that away, then come back up.”

Even with the instinctual fears put to rest, it didn't give Rick much assurance. His head was still spinning with possibilities as he obeyed and walked back down to the living room, absentmindedly laying out the presents. If something was wrong, Daryl wouldn't wait to tell him, right? But what else would happen in the middle of the night that was so important that Rick needed to come back upstairs? Sometimes his couch sentence would last days.

Rick glanced over his shoulder to the stairs, where Daryl was keeping guard on Carl's door. Daryl had not taken this whole Santa business lightly, probably because he never had it himself. It was almost a battle plan put in place to where they would hide the presents, who would sign the packages with a fake signature from Santa, getting completely different wrapping paper, disposing of the milk and cookies and the carrots for the reindeer…

Ignoring the cracking in his stiff knees, Rick stood back up to admire his handiwork. The presents were all in place, ready to be torn into the second Carl woke up. One more Christmas ready to be celebrated.

Chuckling under his breath, Rick walked back up the stairs and carefully swept his arms around Daryl's waist. “Now,” he murmured, letting his hand rub against Daryl's lower back. “What has my mama wolf and pup up so early?”

“I'm fucking horny.”

Rick blinked, but Daryl didn't even give him a second to comprehend the blunt words. He had already pulled out of Rick's arms and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. “I need Dickmas cheer, asap. Then I'll see if you can stay up here.”

So now Rick would be graded on his performance. He grimaced, already trying to solve the mental equation of just  _ how  _ this would work in any way remotely pleasurable, but where there was a will, and judging by Daryl pulling even harder on his shirt that there was an abundance of that, there would be a way.

“Merry Christmas to me,” Rick hummed just as Daryl pulled him through the doorway, only pausing to shut the door and lock it behind them. There would be no room for Santa peeking in tonight.

* * *

“I'm home!”

The voice echoed through the house right before the front door was closed. Rick jerked his head up from behind the stove, still hard at work to make chicken and dumpling soup for the chilly winter day.

At the same moment, he saw Daryl still sitting on the floor with their almost three-year-old daughter, Judith, anchored to his lap. Daryl was, or at least attempting to wrap some presents to put under their nearly twelve year old tree. Judith was almost constantly pawing at whatever present Daryl was wrapping or trying to rip off the paper the second Daryl had finished. Though as soon as she saw Carl walk through the door, Judith scrambled free and rush across the living room on still wobbly bare feet.

“Caaar!” she squealed, and firmly attached herself to Carl's leg.

“Hey, Junebug, I wasn't gone that long,” Carl snickered, ruffling at her curls with one hand while he shouldered his backpack off with the other. It landed in a heap, suspiciously light while Rick knew that midterms would be coming up quick. Even if it was only third grade, Carl still had tests to study for and homework to do.

He held his tongue, though, as he brushed his hands against his pants to wipe away the dumpling flour. “How was school?” Rick asked as he stepped out of the kitchen, grinning back at his children. Even when Carl went to school and came back at the same times five days out of the week, Judith still acted like Carl had been out to war and returning after years of being apart. Probably because the entire day felt like years to her.

“Good,” Carl replied, which Rick was use to. He was already crossing the living room, or attempting as Judith was still clinging to his leg, aiming for the Nintendo DS sitting beside the couch. 

They had given Carl the system for Christmas when he had been five, just to help give him something to do while they all rushed with the baby. Sometimes it proved to be too good of a distraction. The first one that sprung to mind was the day Judith was born.

It had been Valentine's Day, and Daryl had contractions on and off through the previous night and early morning. Daryl had insisted on not telling Carl, since it would only worry him, and Rick had to get him ready for school on his own. As Rick had already been up for several hours with a laboring and pained Daryl, never a good thing, his patience had been slim at best.

He had been bouncing from getting Carl ready to checking on Daryl, while getting things organized to go to the hospital in between. Every time Carl wanted to so much as touch his system, Rick had to steer him away. He couldn't afford the time it would take to wrench Carl out of his gaming.

By the time Rick got Carl ready for school and out the door, he had been exhausted and collapsed on the couch. It only lasted a good thirty seconds before Daryl yelled at him to get his ass up, apparently forgetting that his husband was in the middle of having a baby. Daryl had been calm and collected through the labor up until that point, but from the moment Carl was safe at school, it was like someone had flipped a switch.

Three hours later, little Judith came out to say hello to the world. Then not twenty minutes after Carl had seen and got to hold her for the first time, he was back on the DS.

Carl soon splayed himself out onto the couch, one leg still dangling off the cushion because Judith refused to let go. Daryl had to peel her away, and the only thing that stopped a potential crying fit was the Christmas bow he handed her. Now with Judith entirely entranced with the silver ribbons, it left Carl to soak himself in his game.

“Homework?” Daryl grunted, trying to nudge away the scissors once more from Judith's potential reach.

“Nothing due tomorrow.”

“How ‘bout your science thing? Diorama?”

“Done.”

“Da mn, you do anything in that school or do you just run your teachers up the wall?”

Carl snorted, eyes still on the handheld system. Just as Rick was about to return to his soup, though, Carl jerked back up on the couch. “Oh, Dad!” The DS was carefully set to the side as he shuffled off the couch, his legs only just out of Judith's grabby reach.

“Yes?” Rick asked, turning back to the living room. In Carl's hand, well crumpled in his hand, was a paper slip. It had been folded at one point, but then met the inside of Carl's jacket pocket and that was that. He held back a sigh and took the paper from his son's outstretched hand.

If this was another detention because Carl and Hershel kept trying to climb the fence during recess…

“I got an assignment from Mrs. Walsh, and she said you should help me.”

“I should?” Rick hummed, still untangling the paper from its crushed state. Lori had found her career in teaching a few years ago, not long before her and Shane finally married. It took them long enough, since anyone in town could have seen how much the two seemed to click. Rick and Lori were still close, and Daryl was starting to grow… use to her presence.

Finally unfurling the sheet, Rick skimmed over the words. “Not-So-Secret Santa,” he chuckled, his smile growing with each line of text. He could almost see the same words written onto that whiteboard more than twenty-five years ago. Random names plucked out of a bucket, paired together, ten dollar spending limit. Then there was that little note.

Gifts do not have to be bought, they can be made.

“I think I can help with this,” Rick chuckled, motioning for Carl to join him in the kitchen. “Who did you get?”

Carl squirmed, keeping his eyes on the soup still cooking. “Uh… I got Clementine.”

Clementine. The little girl Andrea and Michonne had adopted last year. She was shy, quiet, not yet out of her shell, but that would come with time. Maybe she just… needed a little nudge.

Carl had already told him all about Clementine, about how he tried to talk to her to be friends but she was still so quiet. He'd worried he had done something to upset her. Maybe this would be just the perfect push to help Clementine out of her shell, with Carl right there to be her first friend.

Rick walked to the kitchen table and sat the letter onto the flat surface. The warmth swelled in his chest at the memories, pacing back and forth at shop after shop, racking his brain for a single idea for what to get that shy loner in class. Back then, he never would have guessed that a little Christmas exchange would lead to their friendship, then dating, marriage, kids and… whatever lies ahead.

But Rick was getting ahead of himself. "Back when I was your age," Rick started, "my class did the same exchange. And I got paired with someone very special."

"Who?" Carl asked, clamoring into his chair with his full attention on his father.

Passing one glance back to the living room, his smile softened. It was hard to believe that his husband was once that scared little kid, unable to trust anyone but himself, hiding in the shadows. "I got your mother. And we gave each other very special gifts that we still have."

Carl's head tilted to the side, squinting in thought. "What'd you get him?"

"Well, it wasn't about  _ what  _ I got him. It was that I made it  _ for _ him. Because my teacher told me that the best gifts don't have to be bought."

Rick tried his best not to laugh as Carl's brow furrowed, like Rick had laid out a puzzle in his words that demanded some magical answer. "I made him a dreamcatcher, because I wanted it to be special. So every night he went to sleep, he would have something to protect him from bad dreams." He held back the words that wanted to tumble out after, that Daryl had told him the dreamcatcher was his only hope at times to take away his bad memories.

"Your mom gave me my own protector. A little wolf he carved out of wood. He didn't spend a penny and it's still a gift I'll always love and remember, because it was made by him for me. It's special."

"Oh," Carl hummed, dropping his chin onto the table. He stared down at the paper, like the perfect present was going to suddenly poof into existence.

"If you want, I think I still remember how I made the dreamcatcher," Rick offered, even when he was certain he would need a few YouTube videos to brush off the rust. "We can make something special for Clementine. Something you made yourself."

Carl still focused on the paper, then pulled it closer. "I want to get her something special. That'll make her happy," he murmured, and Rick felt his heart give a little flutter at the same thoughts he had all those years ago. Rick had just wanted to make Daryl happy.

Perhaps Rick was already getting ahead of himself, but he could feel it deep inside him that this may be the start of Carl's own journey to love. Just something small, a stepping stone, that could lead to so much more. The cycle was about to start again, and it would start with-

"Do you think she'd like a Hot Wheel?"

...with a Hot Wheel, apparently. Maybe next year.


End file.
